A Lifetime To Remember
by yrforever
Summary: This story is Jamie's reflection of the Landon Carter and Jamie Sullivan love story. All told from Jamie's perspective, Nicholas Spark's novel is brought to a whole new depth with Jamie's side of the story integrated perfectly in.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: The characters and plot in this story are owned by Nicholas Sparks, not me.**

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

The seventeenth year of my life was my best and worst moment.

I foresee the eyebrows shooting up when people read this paradox. Indeed, it is senseless, and I bother not to explain yet, because I know my readers will reach enlightenment ultimately.

I will bid farewell to the world soon but leaving no regrets lingering. I _will_ miss my Daddy and my husband. Therefore, I wish for them not to grieve over my departure as much as I crave for a miracle to save me from this terminal disease.

I am perfectly aware that Daddy and Landon will not be able to recover solely by themselves over my departure. And I cannot be selfish enough to devour any of their future happiness. I need them to live more happily than before. I need them to understand why I want it that way. It is so that I can depart placidly, free from burdens.

Don't get me wrong: it's not that I want them to forget me. I want them to have a silhouette of me within their hearts. But they mustn't treat me as an encumbrance to happiness. I must help them exit the path of despondency.

This novel will be my answer for them, with my love burning alive with every word they read. All I hope for is that this novel can keep me alive within them, and years even after my last breath, their memories of me will still be as vivid as it is now.

This novel, most definitely, will halt them from grieving.

Hence, I pen my story. But lately, it is getting increasingly strenuous to move. This disease is draining my efforts, and I can barely lift the blanket up without a stinging pain in my arms. I fear that I may not be able to dance my fingers swiftly across the keyboard very soon.

I will try, for the sake of my father and for my husband. My love sustains my breaths and summons my strength.

And for my love, I will complete this book before I depart, with everything of my life, from the best times to the worst times. I will begin from the very beginning of the turning point in my life to the very end my breath ceases.

My name is Jamie Sullivan-Carter. At age seventeen, I am diagnosed with leukemia, dying. I am married to Landon Carter, and this is our story. I promise of nothing but the truth and the minutest details.

Allow me to lead you back to the year of nineteen fifty seven…


	2. Life and Drama

****

Disclaimer: Everything in the story, the plot, the characters, are owned by Nicholas Sparks, not me.

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE: **_**Life and Drama**_

I commenced my senior year with the greatest optimism I could convene from my decrepit state. Throughout the summer, besides visiting orphanages, submerging myself into the all-encompassing Bible, doing community service without the intention of graduating but for the welfare of my town, trying to complete my wish list, and forcing myself not to mope but to live my days to their maximum, I came up with three resolutions to live by for my senior year, perhaps the last year of my life.

First, I must show the world, the school, especially, that I am superficially identical in health to any other students in the high school, and to cover up the fact that I wasn't. I must live like a typical, healthy senior but with an extraordinary quantity of optimism. In the wee hours of the night, in the private boundaries of my home domain, I had rehearsed my swagger to be exercised in the school hallways with broad, white smile. I wanted to be amiable, to be forgiving this year before I would lose any chance to magnanimous anymore. Indeed, it would be a substantial challenge: Everyone was certainly aware of the sadism that high school kids were capable of. However, in spite of my outwardly stance, I had to isolate and estrange myself from _anyone_ in school.

My second wish was, I must make the Christmas play this year a smashing success.

And third, I had to witness a miracle.

The making of these resolutions could be considered as a deathly err: I was heavily dumping myself into reality, the ruthless reality that spared no mercy for any weakling. It was like tossing myself into the slicing chill of the Atlantic, with no island in hope, with no safety float in hold; alone out there without probable rescue was akin to staring at death squarely yet powerless to succumb into any haven. Such isolation, extremely parallel to my circumstance, lucidly pointed to the due fact that I had limited time in the world, too limited to live _the_ life. Day by day, I swam through my ocean of tears, stifled on the abrupt notion of death that often caught me off-guard, and worse, I had to lie to myself that it would all be fine. The toughest thing was to smile through my predicaments in front of Dad.

And Landon Carter did not make it easier.

I was in all his classes since kindergarten, given that it was a small town in Beaufort. Surely, I had inevitable conversations with him before, but summing up the minutes of our conversation times, I would assume it was less than half an hour in total. And sadly, all these minutes were during school hours, not a second sacrificed in our leisure time. Apparently, it was either that I was too reticent to strike up a conversation with a person who was worlds apart from me, or that he was too condescending to belittle himself to hang out with me; either way, our acquaintance was about to undergo revolution, and I wasn't aware of that prospect, yet.

But during that decade preceding my senior year, I had never quite seemed to notice Landon much. However, I did, with a lot of revelations evoked from the workings of my mind during the summer, on my last first day of school. Like Landon but motivated by different reasons, I signed up for drama class, the last period of the days, most absolutely and definitely. If there was only one person who was ever _this_ enthusiastic about Ms. Garber's class, it would be me. What I was so fervent about was not Ms. Garber's _marvelous_ classes (don't get me wrong; Ms. Garber was not awful) but the upcoming Christmas play, ranking second on my bucket list. Apparently, the play was my beloved father's renowned work, renowned at least in the small town of Beaufort, North Carolina. Its remarkable significance would be incomprehensible to anyone, _anyone_ in this cozy town except Daddy and me. Only both of us knew how much the play was based on Mom, who died because of my birth, and me. And this, again, with repeated emphasis, was exactly why I had to write this book. It was not right to leave Daddy alone to face this trauma all over again. He had suffered a great deal with Mom's death, and I would refuse, with anything I could sacrifice in the world, to watch him under the recurring torment. Such sight would be more horrific than the pain my disease had caused me.

Anyway, the play was a great deal in Beaufort with a full-house audience at the performance every Christmas. It amazed me how people never failed to be astounded by the play annually.

The play was performed by the seniors that year. It had become a ritual, by Daddy's wishes for reasons I did not comprehend. Perhaps Dad, the church minister of Beaufort, wanted seniors, those graduating from high school, to leave a memorable and pious imprint on our prominent little town. This year, much thankfully to the merciful and understanding Lord, I survived my eighteen years to be a senior before I depart for good, giving me the chance to commemorate my life journey that was short but good.

Hence, with the dream I reached to realize, I was the earliest in drama class. Ms. Garber was already there at the board, waiting. I headed for the front seat, figuring that I had to pay attention in her class this year since the play was of unfathomable significance to me.

"Jamie." Ms. Garber nodded in my presence.

"Morning, Ms. Garber," I sung out. I had rehearsed my voice the night before in the bathroom stealthily. Of course, it was after Daddy turned in for bed, and his snores had vibrated through the walls. I had exemplified a bright smile and an optimistic tune for my voice. I would never let my depression and fear leak out through my expressions or voice. A healthy life, I reminded myself.

Ms. Garber flashed a more cordial smile to me, probably stunned by the unusual happiness of a senior, especially on the first day of school. "How was your summer?" But before giving me time to respond, she shot me with another comment, "I'm glad you joined drama this year. It would be exceptionally successful with you."

Evidently, she was referring to the fact that I was Reverend Sullivan's daughter. I simply nodded politely and was about to reply when a group of girls swarmed into the room, transforming the area from a dilapidated outskirt to a bee farm. They took the seats at the back of the room, leaving me sitting in the front alone. Feeling out of place, I convinced myself that it was the due fact that students often crowded in the back of the class, away from the teacher. It was not me from which they distanced themselves from.

Reminding myself of the optimism I had promised, I tried to pull myself away from that fleeting pessimistic thought. I scampered with my thoughts, trying to find a diversion from pessimism and settled with the preoccupation of the Christmas play again. Yes, it was only September then – a long way before December. I had planned during the summer, already. The boy acting as the male leading character should be perfect. Perfect enough to lead the entire show to perfection. Perfect enough to make my dream come true. I calculated the chances. There were a few boys who would sacrifice themselves to Chemistry than to Ms. Garber's class. So I eliminated those impossible choices. Thus, the pool of possible candidates narrowed.

Simultaneously, Eddie, one of the few boys attending Drama, entered and took a seat beside me. He was an affable boy, truly, except that he stammered a lot. But this incapacity never bothered me. After all, I was _the_ physically and severely sick person. Ironically, I could find solace in him. He could not hide his inability, but I was able to keep my sickness secret, at least tentatively.

"Hey, Eddie," I greeted him pleasantly. He struggled for a reply, and of course, I waited patiently for him to finish his "H-h-he-hey." I could not blame him for his deprivation in eloquence.

Before I could strike up a conversation, Ms. Garber summoned silence from the class. At the same time, there was a muffled shuffling at the back of the class. Everyone turned to take a gander. Of course, Landon Carter. There he was, late again. I could have rolled my eyes if an abrupt surge of relief and joy had not overwhelmed me. Yes, Landon was a defiant boy, but that was his disposition. I always saw something good in him that no one else could detect. It was deep inside him somewhere, I knew it. I had grown up with him, in the same class for twelve years, and it was improbable not to notice _something_ about him.

I had decided over the summer, one of my umpteen contemplations during the vacation. I could make a change in people, in him, specifically. Daddy despised his family a lot because of his grandfather who had gained his wealth deceitfully. I'd heard the story over and over again, and I basically memorized every details of it and could recite it backwards. I knew of Daddy's loathing, but I never inherited it.

So, I had figured that Daddy could not live with that hate in him, not with his old, tender age, not with his frail health, not, especially, without me. He certainly had more to worry about, such as my health for the time being, despite the umpteen times I tried convincing him that I was infallible. With what I had left of my life, I _had_ to make a change. I _had_ to dissolve the tension between both families, the Sullivan and the Carter. It would never be healthy for hate to last. And to quell the stained relationship, Landon could join the play – as the male lead.

So I could entirely understand that sense of relief and joy that filled me when I saw Landon in my class. My plan had not gone awry. Landon _was_ in drama this year, I knew it, since he was certainly too indolent for the chemicals. And there were only two boys for the leading male actor: Landon or Eddie. There was an equal chance for Landon, or perhaps the probability was more favorably inclined toward Landon.

But what I could not understand was the surge that had caught me breathless. Really, he was a plain, ordinary guy in high school. Subversive as he could be like the people around him, I had never…felt that way before, and I could not decipher its outlandish emotional accompaniment. He had somehow changed over the summer, no longer the boyish nature or the boisterous pranks he would relish in other people's discomfort. He had matured, somehow, in his features and stance, but perhaps not the attitude, perhaps just not yet. And his maturation was…well, if I had to concede, it was _considerably_ attractive, perhaps.

That was merely an ephemeral moment, however. I quickly recovered from that bewildering sensation as Ms. Garber commanded the class's attention, deciding to ignore Landon's tardiness.

Ms. Garber started class with her well-known melodic "helloooooo!" and goals: "self-confidence, self-awareness, and self-fulfillment." It wondered me how she never got tired of repeating the same words to her drama class each year, knowing it bored the students to our entirety. But she still went on anyway, and I tried to listen. She was getting philosophical, but probably a bit too much. Dramatic.

Finally, she steered the lecture's direction toward the Christmas play. I slid upright into a straight posture in my seat, centering my focus upon the class. Of course, I had _everything_ to do with the play, and expectedly, I received the role for the angel, the leading role. _I_ was the daughter of the maker of the fantastical play. The significance of the role to me was inconceivable to anyone else. No one knew how much I _had_ to do this play. It was the final, final chance I would ever have in my life to perform for my father, for the church, for Beaufort, and for my life before I take on the death kiss. It was my sole chance for my father be proud, to leave him an extraordinary memory, to allow him witness his _own_ daughter carrying out _his_ play extravagantly. This role was a strong way of connecting to my mother, since the play revolved around her. And _I_ was the angel, the _real_ angel that the character in the play really implied. This play was my life story, the story of my family. I needed the play this year to be impeccable, unforgettable, everlasting.

Ms. Garber announced the role to the class. She began the round of applause. It was a lonely applause with barely any contamination by itself. But she kept applauding, implying: "I would not stop until people start clapping." The realization dawned upon the students as they started slapping their hands together, and I could hear the reluctance.

"Stand up, Jamie," Ms. Garber commanded me. Submissively, I rose with the perfect smile on my face. I was getting better at convincing people. I scanned through the students and found my sight landing on Landon. Our eyes met, and my cheeks burned. My smile became more natural as I gave him the widest smile I could fashion then.

I quickly dismissed the thought of his attractiveness, even with his posture slouching in class. It was wicked, tainted, twisted, and _selfish_. I could be more altruistic than that for sure.

* * *

**Author's Note: Finally, this chapter (that used to be divided into two) has been combined into one! :) Keep reading, my dear audiences. Without you, it'd be without this story. **

**And I believe, this is my fourth edit on this chapter. So much details to keep you guys notified of.**

**Enjoy the next chapters! I promise, as the story progresses, everything gets better. In fact, I felt that writing the subsequent chapters ran more smoothly as everything sets into stage neatly.**

**Without your delightful readership, there will be no story. :) All the best, cheers!**


	3. Gossips

**CHAPTER TWO: **_**Gossips**_

I was impressed by myself that day. The cheerfulness I had weaved was proved effective. If I could survive through the first day of school, then why can't I survive the entire school year?

The house was a dead silence when I returned. I decided to use my time purposefully. I took a snack from the kitchen – cookies. I had to enjoy them before I was too feeble or too sick to eat them anymore. I dropped myself on the sofa and opened my Bible. It was the book I brought everywhere with me. It was my guardian angel, the sole item my mother had left for me, and I sought solace within it.

I lost track of time very quickly. Moments later, I heard Daddy unlock the door. I turned and took a swift gander at the clock. A quarter to seven! I hastily dashed for the kitchen. Dinner!

"Jamie?" Daddy called.

"In the kitchen, Dad," I replied. "Dinner will be right out."

"Mm-hm. How's school? Is everything's alright? How are you feeling?"

I sighed silently. The same old questions. Daddy really had to stop worrying about me. "I'm fine, Dad. As always. School's awesome. I got the role for the angel." I tried to place enthusiasm in my voice.

"Great, I knew you would." In fact, _everyone_ knew I would.

I busied myself with preparing dinner. I tried to distract myself from deciphering the distress and weariness in Daddy's voice. What had he been doing again? I hoped he was not crying alone in office again. Lately, he had spent a tremendous load of time in his office, and I had noticed that. He definitely did not have much to do. I suspected that he would break down and suffer silently alone in his office. He probably thought that he could keep it from me, but I knew much better than that. It broke my heart to see how _my_ disease had tormented him. If I was still alive and he was _this_ miserable, what would happen to him when I would not be around? This mutual trepidation needed an end.

"Dad, dinner's ready."

*

The latest gossip in school was about the student body president. Startlingly, Landon Carter ran for the president. The _rebellious_ and _I-do-not-care-much_ Landon? But still, I voted for him on Election Day, although my vote would not make much difference.

That night, Daddy started his complaints. "He won't win, definitely not. Who, honestly, _who_ would vote for Carter? Carter? No, of course not. No one will, I'm sure." (Of course, I kept my vote unvoiced.) "If I was the student body, the last person I would vote for is Landon. Him? No way, please, no. What _can_ he do for the school? Nothing. Nothing! Besides using _his_ dirty money inherited from the _Carter_ grandfather, he is certainly incapable! Moreover, it would be _your_ senior year, your last yea-…" He coughed. I swallowed. I breathed my tears back into the glands. I willed the tears not to flow, but my sniffs gave me away. I really had to be less sensitive to dying. I could tell that Daddy was holding back his tears too, because his voice was hoarse as he continued, "Anyways, as I was saying, the seniors would not want _him_ to be president. Their final year of high school! Jamie, you did not vote for him, right? I cannot imagine that you will anyways." I had not spoken a word. Daddy was not expecting one anyway when he fumed.

Very ironically, Landon had the majority of the votes for President the day after Dad had grumbled about his incapacities.

Prom was the first event student council held. It was a big deal for the students, of course. It was the seniors' show, but not mine. I was not planning on going and never even _thought_ of going. Of course, that was before someone changed this fact.

The lunchroom was a buzz. The atmosphere had a flavor spelling p-r-o-m more than f-r-i-e-s for the first time. I tried to bury myself into my Bible. I could hear the jeers about my "over-devotedness." I had gotten used to it – I knew about it since the first day of school already. But I felt a wave of pain lapsing over me, surging me underwater when Landon and his friends were laughing at me. I had a sudden urge to spill the beans to him. I wanted him to understand, to understand everything about my disease so that I could spend my remaining time with him, so that I could have an evocate (?) memory to hang on to. So that I could love him – I wanted to. This anguish was overwhelming. It ached more than my therapies.

These gossips about me at school…they were the doings of the typical callous high school students. The Bible I held in my hands all the time, the Bible I read at lunch and almost everywhere…the same dress I wore every year… I did not fit into the school. And what could I do? I understood where I belong well. I belonged with God. So I continued placing faith in Him, into the Bible, hopefully I could receive salvation, witness a miracle. I forgave the students and loved them in return before I would lose the chance.


	4. Surprise

**CHAPTER THREE: **_**Surprise**_

On that eventful day, I was absent from school. I gave the principal the excuse that I had to go to the hospital. However, there was a misconception that people always assume. _I_ was the sick one, the one who was dying, not Daddy. Daddy _was_ feeble emotionally but physically healthy.

Every night before my trip to the hospital, I would collapse in my room, crying till my eyes swelled, sinking my teeth into the blanket so that it would submerge my cries. That night was no different. I wept till crying ebbed away my consciousness.

I might as well admit: I am afraid of hospitals.

This phobia developed during my chemotherapies. The anguish was so intense that I, shamefully, had thought that death would be a more painless alternative. This fear was greatly amplified after the doctor had diagnosed my illness to be terminal. Nevertheless, I still overcame the symptoms of this phobia – quivering fingers, stammers, and tears.

So far, my condition had not worsened, _yet_. I could still feel the invigorate animation of life within my muscles. The downfall had not arrived yet. I was sustaining my efforts to be healthy just for the Christmas play – for Daddy.

It was the first of the consecutive blessings of that eventful day. I had prepared lemonade for Daddy and was picking up the Bible to indulge myself when the bell suddenly rang. It was only ten to four – too early for Dad to return. Plus, Dad's return was usually accompanied with the jingles of bells. _Who_ could it be? I went for the door. Could it be Ms. Garber who wanted to discuss about the play? Or could it be…

I almost cried in astonishment and would collapse if I had not held on to the doorknob. Landon!

"Landon, this is a surprise!" I exclaimed hysterically in delight, startled. "You look like you've been exercising."

He gave a weak smile. "Not really." He wiped his eyebrow filled with loose beads of perspiration – it gave him away.

"You've sweat clean through your shirt."

"Oh, that?" He looked down. "That's nothing. I just sweat a lot sometimes."

Of course he did. "Maybe you should have it checked by a doctor," I blabbered out uncontrollably. Did I just say _it_? It would give myself away!

"I'll be okay, I'm sure."

I tried to compose a pleasant smile. "I'll say a prayer for you anyway."

"Thanks." I nodded, suddenly feeling uneasy and nervous. Probably the surprise of Landon's arrival had worn off, I suddenly felt self-conscious. I did not tidy up my hair. My attire…it was unkempt. Oh, no. And there he was, standing in the door. Where _were_ my manners?

"Well," I broke the silence, "I'd invite you in, but my father isn't home, and he doesn't allow boys in the house while he's not around."

"Oh, that's okay. We can talk out here, I guess."

I sent an apologetic smile, but the apology was not conveyed, as Landon seemed to have something going on in his mind. Something urgent, probably.

"Would you like some lemonade while we sit? I just made some." I would sacrifice my cup for him, sure.

"I'd love some."

"I'll be right back."

I excused myself. I was jumpy, frenzied, suddenly. A boy – not just an ordinary boy – was at the door of _my_ house! How often did that ever occur? Never. Composing myself was quite a task, but I managed it eventually. I served the cup of lemonade to the porch.

Mrs. Hastings, my neighbor, passed. I waved pleasantly. I also noticed from the corner of my eyes, that Landon was shifting his chair in an awkward manner. Something _was_ up.

"What are you doing? You're moving your chair into the sun."

"I like the sun," he replied. He was one weird boy, but still affable.

"If that's what you want," I shrugged. "So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

He breathed deeply, conflict raging in his eyes. A battle, I assumed, was ongoing in his mind. A battle almost lost, perhaps, because he sighed lightly.

"So, you were at the orphanage today?"

I blinked. Was that what he took so much trouble to ask?

"No. My father and I were at the doctor's office." I tried to sound casual.

"Is he okay?"

I heaved a sigh of relief in my mind. Another misconception, of course. No one would suspect that I, a teenager, would have any health problems.

I summoned my best smile. "Healthy as can be."

There was a deep silence. An uneasy silence that got on my nerve. What did _he_ want?

"Sure is a beautiful day." A very typical response from a guy.

"Yes, it is," I played along with his side conversation.

"Warm, too."

"That's because you're in the sun."

He shuffled nervously. "Why, I'll bet there's not a single cloud in the whole sky."

I remained silent. Talking about the weather was pathetic.

"Landon," I called. "You didn't come here to talk about the weather, did you?"

"Not really," he finally admitted.

"Then why are you here?"

Conflict warred in his irises again. A massive one.

"Well…" he began. "I wanted to know if you were going to the homecoming dance."

Was he advertising? I had even forgotten about that dance.

"Oh," I replied. I would be frank, but I was not sure if it would hurt his feelings, being the president of student council. "I really hadn't planned on going."

"But if someone asked you to go, you might?"

It stumped me.

"I'm not sure," I murmured unconfidently after moments of deep consideration. "I suppose I might go, if I got the chance. I've never been to a homecoming dance before."

"They're fun," he anxiously replied. "Nottoo much fun, but fun."

I chuckled lightly. "I'd have to talk to my father, of course, but if he said it was okay, then I guess I could."

Landon looked up, brows twitching, lips quivering even under the sun. It took him quite a considerable amount of time to assemble his courage before he said, "Well, would you like to go to the dance with me?"

It certainly struck me, stunned. I never expected the conversation to take this turn. A _president_ asking me out? Landon Carter? I would not even try to dream of it. I was stupefied, dumbfounded. If I didn't have this disease, if I wasn't dying, I would agree instantly without even a slight hesitation. But Providence took its role.

I promised myself to never hurt anyone. If this "date" would not have any result, I would surely agree. On a second thought, would Landon even fall in love with such a girl like _me_? A dying, insipid, unpopular girl?

I turned to him. "I'd love to." I could immediately see the relief in his eyes, the gratefulness. "On one condition," I added.

He was taken aback. "Yes?"

"You have to promise that you won't fall in love with me." This statement burdened huge gravity upon it, but Landon just shirked it off with a laugh.

"Of course, I promise." He grinned back at me.

I suddenly felt light and free. I was flying.


	5. Encumbrances

**CHAPTER FOUR: **_**Encumbrances**_

After Landon had left, our conversation lingered in my mind as I slumped back onto the soft couch, analyzing every moment during our time on the porch. Had he _really_ asked me, the dying girl, out to the homecoming dance? Me out of the million girls? Did he really mean so, or was it yet another trick he conceived with his friends? They were probably in their car jeering at my foolishness, my dumb foolishness to trust Landon. But Landon, he sounded sincere with every word he said previously. _Would you like to go to the dance with me?_ Did he _really_ ask me out? This spasm of shock mingling with doubt dominated my emotions until an abrupt realization struck me off guard. Would he fall in love with me? No, he had promised not to. Moreover, I was simply an insipid, bland, peculiar teenage girl who "even hugs her Bible to sleep." (I had heard this quote one day in the cafeteria – people in school needed to learn how to gossip _behind_ people's back, not in front.) He would certainly not fall in love with me, but _I_ might fall in love with _him_. Not to say, he was rather attractive and charming, though I had only started noticing his charm at the beginning of senior year. Who could affirm that I would not be the _one_ loving him ultimately? Fear gradually overwhelmed me. I _could not_ love him, but I was afraid that I would be unable to help myself. _God,_ I thought,_ please don't allow me to fall in love with him. Please._

During my struggle to allay this trepidation of my love life, the doorbell rang, following a jingle of keys. _Oh, no._ I had completely forgotten about the most colossal obstacle hindering me in going to the dance – Daddy. Anxiety crept up my spine. I shivered.

"Coming!" I went for the door. What if Daddy would not allow me to go to the dance with Landon? He would never even permit me to go out with a boy, not that I had never tried asking him before when I was still healthy. Even in another universe in which Daddy would let me go out with a boy, the boy would _never_ be Landon, no matter which aspect of the universe it was.

I was still lost in thought when I opened the door for Daddy, because when he saw my expression, his voice was suddenly concerned.

"Jamie? _Jamie? Are you okay? _How are you feeling?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, Dad. Of course I'm fine. Feeling as great as ever." I flashed him a convincing smile.

"Sure? Jamie, please don't scare me again."

"I wasn't trying to, Daddy."

He headed towards the kitchen. I knew that I _had_ to tell him that I would be going to _the_ homecoming dance with Landon next week. But, _how_? What would he say? I feared the prospect of asking him for permission. Suddenly, the vision of me at a dance seemed vague and distant. I felt a spasm of guilt having to promise Landon that I would go with him when I might end up being trapped in the house. Dad's voice intervened my thoughts.

"Lemonade! Oh, Jamie, you didn't have to. You're still weak."

I rolled my eyes. "Dad, I'm not weak."

He ignored me as he tucked himself into the dining room. I followed him, brainstorming for the best way to phrase my sentences about the imminent dance. I had to tell him, afterall.

"So, Dad," I began, staring intently at the Bible in my hands. What should I say? _Dad, I'm going to our school's Homecoming with your archenemy, Landon Carter. _Or, _Dad, please don't stop me but I have to go to the dance with Landon. I've promised him. You can ground me after that though. _Or, _you know, Dad, I'm sure you've heard about the Homecoming dance. Well, the person you hate most in the world just asked me out._ None of them were appropriate for Dad; they would not work against him.

_Dad, I was thinking that maybe I should go to the homecoming dance, because this is my last chance to…_ Bingo! He would comply with that plead if things went smoothly. Our soft spot was my last chances for everything. I convened all courage I had, my heart swelling slightly with hesitation and dread. I forced words out of my mouth.

"Dad, I was thinking…" He looked up from his newspaper, tensing my nerves. "For pr—Actually, I ran out of ideas for dinner. What would you like?"

The right words seemed to be recoiling away from my tongue. I bit my lips. Was it even possible to start?

"Hmm. That's very unlike you, but it happens to your mom sometimes before." Clearing his throat, he continued, "A simple spaghetti will do." He curled his lips upwards, smiling gently – the same smile when he recalled about mom.

The simple gesture showing that he was in an evocative mood, I placed my bets once more. I started, slowly, choking the words out one by one, "So, I was thinking…you know, since it's my last year of my li-," I cleared my throat, and Daddy snapped out of his castles in the sky and shifted his glance upon me. I corrected myself, "the last year of my high school, I meant. So, I was thinking that…I should probably go to…you know, the Homecoming dance, to enjoy my last high school moments."

Daddy eyed me dubiously, his scrutiny burning with curiosity and disbelief. I lowered my eyes, fingers fidgeting uncontrollably on the dogged edges of the newspaper in front of me. I wished I could skip this part of the awkward conversation. Would he agree? I had already promised Landon that I would go with him, and I, though I try to deny this truth, _really_ wanted to go with him.

After a long, intense moment of silence, Dad spoke, "Alone?"

The tense moments were not over, yet. "N-no, not a-alone." I could barely choke out the words. My fists clenched tight, fingers unable to relax. My thighs contracted, hardening with apprehension. The worst was approaching. It was like seeing a patch of grey clouds in the sky from afar, knowing that a violent thunderstorm was inevitably nearing.

I could imagine Daddy's brows hopping up and down, creasing and relaxing, conflicting about what was going on with his daughter. He had placed down his newspaper, entirely concentrating on deciphering my underlying message about the dance. He knew, as much as I did, that I would never voluntarily go to _a dance_. I was not that type of girl.

A dance. How could such a word cause so much nervousness?

"Then?" The suspicions in Dad's tone made my toes freeze.

"T-then, I- I… Well, s-somebody asked me out." _Please say yes, please say yes, dad!_ I wished the gentle smile could animate his face again so that it could ease my violent fidgets inside. The trepidation could chew me up if the moment of silent anticipation lasted any longer. I could scream, shout, implore him to agree instantly. I could yell something, anything to convince him, convince Dad before he had any chance to impede me from breaking my promise to Landon. I summoned courage to look into Dad's eyes, visualizing Landon's suave image in my head, concentrating on his features in order to suppress the dread in me.

"P-please, Dad, please, I really want to go. I want to at least keep this memory, let this memory last before I… before I leave. You know I have never begged you to allow me to go to such events, not in freshman or sophomore year, not even in junior year when everyone else was going!" I inhaled deeply. Blabbering too quickly, I was unsure if Dad understood my words. "But this year is different, Dad, this year is different from last because right now I know that I'll d-" I coughed loudly, trying to cover up that bad diction. _Because right now I know that I'll die soon and I don't want to leave regrets of losing my sole chance of being with him, with Landon Carter._

"I really want to go." I concluded.

Another long moment of uneasy silence lapsed. I could not handle it any longer. I needed an answer.

"Who?"

My worst nightmare has finally arrived. How can I ever say the name? The name that Dad hated most, the name that I was going to the dance with? The silence relapsed back.

"Who?" I caught the sudden impatience in his voice, realizing then that my silence had given my answer away. He was just waiting for me to say his name.

"Landon. Landon Carter."

Instead of the gasp that I had expected, Dad sighed deeply. "Landon," he heaved, "Him out of all the boys. Say, did you ask him out or did he invite you?"

I held my breath. "He asked me out."

"Repeat the exact words he said."

It was simple. The words had been replaying in my mind ever since Landon had left our porch. "He said, 'Would you like to go to the dance with me?'"

"And you said?"

"I said, 'Sure.'" What was the point of telling the truth about such irrelevant topics? My true answer would cause Dad to forbid me to going even more.

"And?"

"He left after that."

"When did he ask you out? You weren't at school today."

"He…came."

"Into the house?"

"I did not let him break your rules."

"Good," he sighed. He leaned back onto his chair, head dropping down with his chin resting gently upon his chest, his eyes placidly closed, but I could sense the tumultuous conflict raging beneath his eyelids. My heart was racing like speeding cars on an empty highway, unrestricted and uncontrollable. I was merely waiting for either one of two words: Yes, or No.

"How much do you want to go?" If it was not for the reverberating silence, I would not have comprehended these words that crept out of his tight lips.

"Very much, I guess."

"Would it bring you regret if you are not able to go?"

"Very much so." It was probably the moment to speak candidly.

He sighed. "Alright then, go. But give me the details about the event, and you know my rules about curfew. And convey the message, that I would like to talk to Landon before he picks you up to Homecoming that day. About a quarter to an hour before you leave."

I could not worry about the little talk yet. I could feel my entire body loosening like a high school student suddenly free from the burdens and stress from SAT, like a horse suddenly free from its bulky loads. My feet bounced my body off my chair and into the air. I rushed to hug Dad. I could breathe through my lungs again after an extremely lengthy moment of suffocation. I had never laughed so freely since a long time. Dad could not help but smile at my sudden merriness – the same gentle smile. But something was amiss with that smile. The wrinkles at the edges of eyes were suddenly conspicuous. How much had he aged in these few days because of my stupid, stupid sickness? But I shoved this realization away for the time being in order not to interrupt the joyous atmosphere.

That night was the first night Landon Carter entered my dreamland.


	6. A Fervent Preparation

**CHAPTER FIVE: **_**A Fervent Preparation**_

Girls would die just to be asked out by the Student Body President, and when did my luck peak at its summit? A week ago, I would never have imagined that I would go to the Homecoming dance with Landon tomorrow. I was elated, but I kept the elation low in school. I would see Landon in school. We barely spoke. He was always with his friends, Eric and the newly added member, Margaret Hays, who was, according to the gossips in school, Eric's most recent girlfriend. I was certainly not like Margaret, the head of cheerleaders, a fortunate girlfriend of someone who actually liked her. Even though Landon would smile at me and greet me occasionally in the hallways and in drama class, he usually overlooked my presence even if he noticed me when he was encompassed by his friends. I started to doubt if his invitation to the dance was merely a dream that I had confused with the reality. It was until that afternoon when he came to me after being secluded from his friends. He confirmed the time when he would be fetching me at my house, which ascertained that I was not driven to insanity, mingling dreams and reality. I notified him too that he might have to arrive early to have a "little talk" with my dad.

The next afternoon that followed, I went home right after school ended. I spent hours trying to find a dress – the problem that had never occurred to me. As I swept through my closet, I realized that I had no acceptable dress. Dad pulled out some of mom's old clothes in which he still kept for memory's sake, but either the colors had faded or they were too casual for such a formal occasion.

I finally settled upon a white blouse and a blue skirt. I was probably underdressed for a dance, but I was clueless about the standard decorations for the event. I simply hoped that Landon would not mind.

Dad left me alone in my room to smear my face with powder. I was having problems with my hairdo. Should I let it down, or should I bun it up? Which did Landon prefer?

As I was conflicting between the styles, I heard the bell chime. I panicked – I was far from being prepared. But this panic quickly gave way to trepidation. Dad was about to have a talk with Landon. What could it be? Dad was a straight, direct man, a man full of principles, probably too many principles for a mischievous boy like Landon. Was Dad trying to scare Landon off? Would he repent against his promise to let me go? Or would Landon aggravate him, being the boy he loathed most?

From the room, I could barely make out the words, but I manage to catch on the beginning of their conversation with my heart thumping hard against the ribs.

"Well, sir, I'm the student body president. I don't know whether Jamie mentioned that to you." Landon's voice was resonant, rich and deep.

I could not hear Dad's reply, since his voice, unlike Landon's, was hoarse and weak.

"And…well, I hope to go to the University of North Carolina next fall. I've already received the application." What _was_ Dad interrogating Landon about?

"I guess not, sir." I could not decipher the direction of their conversation. I was about to give up from eavesdropping when I abruptly realized that I had to prepare myself. Landon was waiting outside, _for me_.

I tied my bun up hurriedly yet neatly for I had lots of practice Bunning my hair on school days. I slid into my flats, took a heavy breath, calming my nerves and placing the cheerful façade. I stepped out to greet Landon and Dad.

"You're not giving Landon a hard time, are you?" I added extra exuberance into my voice as I shot the question for Dad.

"We were just visiting," Landon blurted out hastily just as Daddy opened his mouth to answer. I looked at both of them and smiled slowly.

"Well, we should probably go," I spoke, dismissing Dad and Landon's discussion. I walked towards Dad, "Don't stay up too late working on the sermon, okay?" I knew, despite my word of concern, he would end up spending his time worrying for me instead of doing anything else. I pecked him on the cheek and gave him a broad, reassuring smile.

"I won't," he replied gently, his eyes burned with trepidation. He was still rather anxious that I was going out to the dance with Landon _Carter_.

Landon escorted me to his car. A pretty decent car, I would say. He cordially opened the door for me. I stepped in as daintily as I could manage. As he passed me the corsage, the first extravagant corsage I had ever received, he told me that he would teach me how to pin it when he had entered the car. If it was not for the lovely softness in his voice as if he treated me as a naïve kid, I would snort at him. Instead, when he circled around the car, I slipped the exquisite corsage onto my delicate arm and pinned it swiftly.

Landon's surprised expression on his face was hilarious when he slipped into the driver's seat.

"I'm not exactly a dimwit, you know. I do know how to pin on a corsage," I clarified.

His expression softened, but no reply came. His aloof side resurfaced again. I stared deep into his eyes that focused intently ahead on the road, but from his oblivion, I guessed that he was lost in his thoughts. Whatever his musings were, my instincts told me that he was reflecting from the conversation he had with Daddy. I made a spontaneous comment to verify my deduction.

"My father doesn't like you very much." I had decided to stick to the truth – no harm to honesty. He might even be aware of this fact, anyway.

He simply nodded. I did a mental translation: he was not in the mood for conversations.

"He thinks you are irresponsible." I continued, hoping for some reactions from him. He merely nodded again.

"Or your family." The silence still lingered. A fleeting thought summoned my fear – was he offended by my direct integrity? I toyed with that notion but resolved that being frightened was insensible. I decided to try my luck once again.

"But do you know what I think?"

"Not really." Finally! My incessant questionings finally incited a response, a brief but rational answer. I flicked off the melancholy that bored in his voice.

"I think that all this was in the Lord's plan somehow. What do you think the message is?" For the rest of the trip, I blabbered on with my latest revelations that I had conformed when I was reading the Bible. I yearned to share with Landon, eager to share my passion with him. Landon responded occasionally, but I compelled myself not to be so sensitive. Somehow, being with him stimulated my constant blabbers that I could not cease. I really hoped he would not find me a nuisance.

* * *

**A/n: Hey guys, sorry for the long break from updating. It had been a busy week with Valentine's Day and Chinese new year. I've written up to Chapter 11 already, and trust me, it's getting better soon! (Especially when it comes to the actual dance.)**

**I apologize if you actually notice that the last few paragraphs were quite brief. I had taken a decent long break from writing that time and only continued with the last paragraph, so the writing mechanism had not set into my mind yet. But the future chapters had flowed smoothly, don't worry.**

**For those of you who are actually reading this author's note, I want to give you a big thanks for reading up to this chapter!**


	7. The Dance

**CHAPTER SIX: **_**The Dance**_

I had not given much thought as to how Homecoming would turn out to be. I had never been to a dance; not only did I not dare to expect anything, in fact, I did not know _what_ I should anticipate. Instead, I dwelled my attention on the still-bewildering fact that Landon had asked _me_ out, _me_ out of the infinite girls in the world. There was certainly an underlying purpose beneath his invitation, but I had chosen not to contemplate too much on that, for I might uncover the ruthless purpose beneath it that I would rather not know about.

My nervousness had not gotten to me yet, until the instant when I arrived at the entrance of the main hall. The angst of my inexperience. I could not decipher out why, but among all the imaginations I had about how the event itself would turn out to be, never had I once considered that this angst, this trepidation would be the one to thwart me. I stopped in front of the door, yet unable to compose myself.

Landon had walked on, but paused when he turned and saw no sight of me. Confused, he scanned the crowd behind and finally spotted me.

"Jamie, let's go," he nudged me.

"Maybe, I shouldn't even be here," I whispered, low enough that Landon could not hear it.

However, I'd mistaken. "You're already here, no point in saying that. C'mon. It'd be fun. I'll take you back if you don't like it inside."

"No, Landon. I've never been to such a dance before. Too elegant for me. I don't know what to -"

Before I could end my sentence, he grabbed my arm and pulled me in. His fingers were warm, and they held tightly against my cool skin. That warmth, was enough for me to follow his footsteps.

"You'll like it," he said firmly, his lips stout.

With his unceasing tugging on my arm, I walked into the hall. No, it wasn't like any hall; that would be too inferior to the entire place. It was a paradise, a heavenly paradise. Not the kind of paradise I had always believed I would enter after my death. The place was exuberent, animated, bustling. The lights shot the ground everywhere, putting the entire place into a perfect disarray. The music boomed loudly against my ears; the bass shook the ground hard enough for my heart to beat with its tempo. The walls were neatly decorated, with the glistening tapestries hanging lankily. I marveled, in awe and intensity.

I suddenly felt a warmth releasing my fragile arm. "Would you still like to leave?" Landon smirked at me. I supposed he had been staring at me by the tone of his voice.

"Did you do this, Landon?"

He nodded proudly. "Of course."

"It's incredible, Landon. It's amazingly incredible."

I turned my glance to the centre of the room. The dance floor was teeming with students. The girls were excessively beautiful in their gowns and their faces vibrant with make-up; standing anywhere close to them would make me seem like a monster. The boys swayed along with the bodies of their girls in synchronized momentum. The atmosphere was intoxicating, exhilarating. Something that the movies were unable to portray. I was held by a strong compulsion to join the group of marvelous dancers, but I was conscious about my inability to dance.

Landon sat with me throughout the front half of the night. Most of the time, I marveled at the liveliness of the incredible party. Occasionally, I would take a swift glimpse at Landon. Ignorance bored into his expression, but I tried to disregard it. I could not understand why Landon was _sitting_ at a dance party with _me_. I had the I-can't-dance excuse. But Landon? Shouldn't the student body president join the dance? Shouldn't he enjoy the dance and take pleasure in his magnificent efforts? Where were his friends? Or maybe, Landon was all along trying to insinuate to me that I was a boring person to be with, and that he should have asked another girl out?

I frequently slapped those fleeting thoughts out of my head and tried to kick off a conversation with him. I started off by flattering his decorations, but he took no notice in it. I honestly hoped that he could discern that those compliments were from the deepest parts in my heart – I was not exaggerating at all.

These thoughts continued to develop, eventually to an ephemeral moment where it had just popped out of nowhere: _Would Landon ask me to dance?_ I watched the couples stepping off the dance floor to grab a punch, and a young man had just invited a girl, sitting alone a few seats away from me, to dance with him. I watched her go in admiration. Would Landon do such a sweet thing?

As if the dashing young man had induced courage into Landon, Landon abruptly stood up and walked in front of me. His face thoughtful – that same expression that I received before he had asked me to the dance. There was a mingle of courtesy and apprehension in his voice as he staggered out the words, "Would you like to dance with me?"

My first reaction, an innate one, I would say, was a stupid confirmation, "Me?"

In bafflement, as if he had never anticipated such stupidity from me, Landon nodded.

My mind disorientated, I blinked blankly into his face.

"Would you like to dance with me, Jamie?" he emphasized greatly on my name.

"I'd love to, Landon." I gently took his hand, regarding it with great caution and love.

We stepped onto the dance floor, the place where I had dreamed to be a few moments ago. Landon held my waist, and I was too mesmerized and consumed in thoughts that I struggled to find where my hands were supposed to be placed at. He gently took my wrists and placed them over his shoulders, and returned into his previous posture. It was a slow song. He swayed. I remained firm.

"Relax," he spoke lightly.

"I can't dance, Landon," I admitted.

"I know that you can," he replied, confident. How could he know?

He moved my body, trying to sway it to the rhythm. I loosened up, closed my eyes. I could hear nothing, see nothing, but feel everything. His arms around my wrist, my hands wrapped around his warm shoulders. But there was still quite a distance between us, a distance that neither he nor I had planned to close. I was comfortable with this gap.

As the song evolved into a quicker one, we let each other go, and simply jumped around and danced maniacally. He was still by my side, though, and I was laughing. Laughing soundingly. A true, solid laughter, one that I was not able to produce in months. Landon smiled warmly at me – a big grin.

After a dozen songs, I was tired, but happy. We stepped off the floor. I was in such a bliss that I could barely stand well.

"You danced well," Landon complimented, "given that it is probably your…first time?"

"Yes," I blushed, "it was my joy to dance with you, Landon." I paused, thinking about how it must have been from the faith I had in God, the faith that I prayed every single day, and God must have taken joy in my sincere prayers. Landon grabbed a punch for me, and we sat, again, in our original seats. I was grabbing my breaths and ironing out my soft pants. Landon, however, was staring out into space at something in particular, but I could not figure out what it was. I followed his sight, but made nothing out of it.

It was then when a young man, his face hinted a trace of immaturity, stormed towards Landon and I furiously. His hateful and conceited emotions had contorted his otherwise dashing face. Recognition sparked within me. Lew, a boy my father often complained about. His expression was haughty, and he was staring in menace at Landon without even sparing me a glance. I could not decipher his madness, but I guessed it had something to do with the girl his hand was intertwined with– Angela, Landon's ex-girlfriend, as I had learned from rumors last year.

Was this a commotion of jealousy? Landon had broken up with her since…sometime ago, hadn't he?

Lew neared and forced Angela next to him. Angela stumbled into his arms, and he placed his hand on her hip, almost going lower. He tensed, eyebrows twisted in fury and eyes narrowed. Angela shifted closer to Lew's body seductively, such that there was practically not a single millimeter between them. Her hands enveloped Lew's neck, pasting her cheek onto his. She held a vicious yet restrained look as she stared at Landon's baffled, envious, and cautious face. She glanced slightly at me, lips parted, and looked back. She _was_ exceedingly beautiful that night, and it was believable that Landon's old feelings towards her might have awakened once again.

"Are you staring at my girl?" Lew demanded. Apparently, Angela was his date.

"No," Landon replied coldly, detached.

"Yeah, he was," Angela accused. "He was staring _right_ at me." She turned to Lew, "This is my old boyfriend, the one I told you about."

Lew's eyes narrowed, raging with resentment. "So _you're_ the one," he smirked. I stood quietly, observing the scene from the outside.

"I wasn't staring," Landon protested, "and I don't know what she told you, but I doubt if it was true." He sounded helpless, indecisive, and I had an urge to defend him, but I might have complicated the matter if I stepped in.

"Are you calling Angela a liar?" he demanded, his voice raised.

Landon was lost for words, struggling within himself to conjugate defensive yet unoffending protests. I took a brave step forward, hauling all my courage, and smiled cheerfully at Lew. "Don't I know you?" I stared straight into his eyes, trying to dissolve the fury warring within. Violence never worked in these situations, I'd learned. "Wait – yes, I do," I continued, "You work in the garage downtown. Your father's name is Joe, and your grandma lives out on Foster Road, by the railway crossing." I smiled even broader, determined to embarrass him perniciously. "Isn't that so?"

The rage in Lew's face gave way as confusion swept across his face. His face twisted into another pattern – perplexity.

"How do you know all that? What we'd do, tell you all about me, too?"

I laughed slowly, "No, don't be silly. I saw your picture in your grandma's house. I was walking by, and she needed some help bringing in the groceries. Your picture was on the mantel." Of course, this was _really_ how I got to know how this boy looked.

He stared deep into mine, trying to convey his ferocity into my recoiling. But I adamantly stared back into his eyes, smiling broader every time he tried to make me cower.

Why was he still not going away?

"Well, we were just sitting down to take a breather from all that dancing. It sure gets hot out there. Would you like to join us? We've got a couple of chairs. I'd love to hear how your grandma is doing." That, I hoped, would be enough to shove him off.

He looked at me intently, brainstorming of how to deal with me, probably. But he finally gave up and skulked off with a "hmph."

"Thanks," Landon breathed.

I smiled at him. "For what?"

He nodded, and I tried to backtrack to what we were doing before the commotion happened. I started my discussion about Bible school. Landon seemed more focused on what I was saying that time, and I was pleased.

After another few moments, I was feeling thirsty. I was about to get some _non-alcoholic_ drinks when I heard another tumult in the ladies'. The girls, all beautifully dressed, wore a disgusted and horrified expression and kept a distance from the bathroom. Curious, I made my way closer to perceive the turmoil. As I approached nearer, a pungent, nauseating reek grew stronger until I had to hold my breath. It was Angela. From the incessant murmurs around, apparently, Angela had perhaps drunk too much. Intoxicated, she threw up all over the bathroom, and no one was charitable enough to help her. I stepped forward, taking minimal breaths as possible, trying hard to be oblivious to the sickening smell. I _had_ to help her, otherwise she would be in _huge_ trouble for getting drunk when the teachers found out.

"Where's Lew?" I cried. People shrugged. Even the guys were starting to clump at the entrance of the bathroom.

I sighed. What was a boyfriend for? To ditch his girlfriend when such a minute trouble brewed?

"I have it managed here," I shouted to the hopeless crowd, unwilling to help and standing by the side to see someone struggle in need. "This situation is in control! Now, will you all please, out of the way!"

I hoped the crowd would disperse, so that the teachers would not be lured to this commotion. Unfortunately, my purpose was not achieved.

Just then, Landon appeared and austerely handled the situation. While I tended to Angela, he dispersed the mob. It was hard to believe that Angela's face, eyes smudged, face distorted with discomfort, was beautiful, cleanly streaked with make-up a few moments ago.

Even though I hated drunkards probably as much as Dad hated the Carters, but I still helped Angela. Who would help her if I would not? I pulled her up – she _was_ heavy given her drunkenness. She dropped on my shoulders precariously, her limbs swaying lankily, and I almost fell onto the floor, the nauseated floor. Fortunately, Landon quickly came to my side, and together, we dragged her out of the bathroom. She sluggishly slumped onto the chairs.

I went back to the bathroom to clear it up, and Landon searched for his dear friend, Eric, to guard the bathroom entrance while Landon and I tidied the mess. It was awkward, really. A _boy_ was guarding the _ladies_ bathroom, but which girl, dressed flawlessly and enjoying the atmosphere outside, would be willing to guard? And, Landon was in the _ladies'_.

It was laborious – I had never estimated that a drunkard could cause so much mess. There was puke almost everywhere – even up the ceiling. No gloves with a relentless reeking smell – the process was insufferable. I was a _girl_, so I should be able to bear with it. But Landon. I glanced at him frequently, stealthily, as we cleared the bathroom. He did it, with great efforts, without complaints.

After an arduous time, the bathroom was finally neat – the same as it was before. We walked out, soundless, probably stinking as the puke made us. The party was already over. A few people were kind enough to stay back and help clear the litters. Landon and I sneaked out the back door. Angela's arm leaned heavily on our shoulders. She walked shakily, and we had to spend another load of effort to get her into Landon's car. It was tough, for a diseased girl like me. I could not conceive why people would drink their health away. I wanted them to know, desperately, that their health was _all_ I ever wanted in my life, and there they were, wasting it away.

On the way to Angela's home, I heard indistinct murmurs from the back seat. Angela kept asking where Lew was. Thinking of him, I raged inside, but kept my voice calm as I assured Angela that he was fine, and that she should not worry about such an indecent boy. Then, Angela puked on the floor of the car – it was dreadful, frustratingly dreadful. Landon gave a tortured expression and rolled down the windows. I might have to help him clean up, again.

The road to Angela's home seemed too extensive, but we eventually arrived at her home. Her mother's expression was disappointed and a trace of frustration crossed her face. She was too busy dragging Angela in the house to thank us.

The entire journey back home was soundless, but from the way his eyebrows crease, Landon sunk back, engulfed into his deep thoughts again. I craved to know what his thoughts were, but I sat back in silence, biting my lips and holding my breath.

Landon automatically walked me to my door. I could feel Dad's eyes staring intently at our every infinitesimal movement from the window. Under the glaring porch light, I took a deep, refreshing breath of the clear night. I smiled at Landon and stretched cheerfully. I wanted to chase the awkward silence away, especially that _particular_ thought that accompanied it, because I knew that it was impractical no matter what. Landon would not lean in and press his lips on mine as a goodbye kiss.

"Please don't tell your father about this," Landon pleaded, thankfully breaking the silence.

"I won't," I promised, although I was not sure if I would be able to honor the promise when Dad started his detailed interrogation. "I had a good time tonight. Thank you for taking me to the dance."

Landon seemed to be taken aback by my gratefulness. He merely smiled broadly, a truly beautiful smile. I turned and pretended to unlock the door while he walked back to his car and drove off. I turned, and my gaze followed the trail of his car until he was out of sight.

I sighed.

The door opened robotically behind me. I jumped slightly, and Dad was at the entrance. I curled my lips upwards playfully as I expected his next sentence with a slight frown: "Tell me everything, Jamie. Why do you stink like this?"

And Dad said it.

* * *

**Author's Note: The longest chapter yet! Well, I hope you all enjoyed. I'll upload the chapters as soon as possible when the files are with me. Thank you all for reading up till here, for reviewing, and for getting a story alert for this story! Thank you all!**

**Isn't the dancing part nice? Before the pukes, especially. I enjoyed the part Jamie and Landon danced together. I was trying to get a chemistry between them - a chemistry that neither of them was aware of. That's a cool part, in my opinion.**  
**I'll update VERY SOON! Don't worry! :D**


	8. Taking Action

**Author's Note: Dearest readers, my deepest apologies for my terrible blunder. I am not aware if any of you recognized the mistake I made, but there should be a huge gap between chapters 6 (_Prom_) and 9 (_Orphanage with Landon_). Two missing chapters! I'm terribly sorry! I have edited these chapters and will insert them in ASAP. I deeply apologize!**

**

* * *

**

**CHAPTER SEVEN: **_**Taking Action**_

After the homecoming dance, Landon and I acted as if we were never together in the night before. When we passed by each other in the hallways, I looked out for him observantly, watching him sweeping past my shoulders casually, noticing his aching ignorance. He did not even bother sparing me a glance. I tried to catch his attention several times and smiled at him, but he only looked through me, as a perfect stranger does. I was used to such ignorance by many, but to be honest, my heart was stabbed and torn a million times in that single day, and my bones cracked to pierce my lungs way beyond repair. It couldn't break anymore than it had already shattered, only leaving the remains to bleed excruciatingly.

The only time when he talked to me was during drama class where he was not around _his_ friends, where he would not be _embarrassed_ if he chatted with me. However, our conversations were concise and brief, purely out of friendliness and, surprisingly, recognition. Sometimes, I caught myself staring back at him in heartbreak and helplessness instead of listening to his words. I felt even bitter than I was before the dance, because after all we had been through that night, we had drifted apart instead of becoming closer. And it was unbelievable to ever trust that we shared a common memory _together._

But life still resumed. It did not pause because Landon treated me like dirt. Leukemia did ebb my strength bit by bit, but not enough to make me feeble. I still went to the hospital from time to time, making sure my condition was not deteriorating at an incredible rate, and my fear for that wretched place augmented with every visit. I still confided my faith all into the Lord, knowing that all these happenings were merely in His plan, and I would accept it the way it was. But accepting was the toughest, for the Christmas play's casting turnout.

Eddie was chosen to be the male leading actor instead of Landon. It stunned me by utter surprise. Eddie seemed slightly more jovial than he usually was, but at the same time, he was extremely apprehensive about his role. He once mentioned to me before class began that if someone was willing to take his place, he would gladly exchange roles. He was aware of his incapability, and did not want to be hurt from the prospect of the incessant mockery from people. I felt sorry for him, and could really empathize with that dread momentarily, but I still took his words into consideration, entrusting that Landon could do a good job for that role.

"Eddie," I told him gently one afternoon. "If Landon was willing to assume your role, will you mind?"

He smiled slightly, though rather disappointed at himself, or at my inconsideration. "O-of c-course not, J-Jamie," he stuttered, "I would g-give up my spot e-even t-though I'm r-really honored t-to even h-have this t-temp-porary role ani-anyway. O-of course it'd only b-be i-if Land-don is w-willing to e-exchange."

"I'd try asking him, but I thought I should consult your opinion first, that is of utmost importance. I'll get back to you as soon as possible." I smiled, trying to assuage his disappointment that made me self-conscious.

He returned my gesture and nodded when the bell rang for class.

I waited till Sunday after church when I phoned Landon to discuss about my plan for that play. I had chosen not to confront him after school since he was used to giving me cold shoulders those few days. Besides, his friends would probably be with him after school, and that would utterly shame him – and my goal would not achieve my desired result then.

I found his number from Dad's old telephone directory, and I was actually relieved to hear that the number was still in use.

The phone rang for a few moments as I rehearsed my lines mentally. I tapped the table with my hands nervously, uncomprehending this trepidation. The peals stopped abruptly, and from the other end of the phone, a voice breathed heavily.

"Landon?" I asked.

"Oh, hey," his voice oddly cheerful. I had never heard such an animated tone from him before. "What's going on?"

"How are you?" I began, timidly, unaccustomed to his exuberance. There was a long pause, as if Landon had undergone a astonishment, or disappointment, upon hearing my voice. Or did he hang up?

"Landon?"

"I-I'm fine," he blurted.

"Are you busy?"

"Sort of." Caution overtone his voice, merely as if he was trying to keep his distance from me, the metaphorical cannibal.

I had forgotten my rehearsed lines at the interrupted notion. I frantically searched through my mind, but no results appeared. _Great_, I thought cynically. _Say something, anything!_

"Oh, I see…" was all I could come up with.

"Why are you calling me?" he demanded haughtily. I loathed this attitude from Landon – treating me curtly.

I stammered, in reply to his arrogance. "Well, I – I just wanted to know if you wouldn't mind coming by a little later this afternoon." My mind twisted frantically fast at the uncontrolled words. I did not crave for a face-to-face discussion with him, particularly with his agitated attitude. However, _maybe_ such discussion would be more persuasive than talking into a dead receiver.

"Coming by?" He repeated.

"Yes, to my house."

"Your house?" He reiterated my words. His surprise infuriated me. Was I so despicable? He made it sound like coming over was a nightmare, and seeing me would be absolutely lethal. Did he regret asking me out to the dance that badly?

"There's something I want to talk to you about. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." I insisted despite his indirect refusal of hesitation.

"Can't you just tell me over the phone?" He demanded, apparently annoyed.

A brief pause lapsed. "I'd rather not."

"Well, I'm working on my college application essays all afternoon," he explained, trying to excuse himself from coming by.

_College_, I thought. The word that everyone had busied themselves over – everyone but _me_. _If_ I would even to be able to live past graduation, I would be feeble, dying already.

"Oh, well…like I said, it's important, but I suppose I can talk to you Monday at school," _where you might be vulnerable to be shamed by talking to me with your friends around_.

He had probably shared the same conclusion as me, and so he replied quickly, "No, actually. Today is fine."

Reverse psychology was indeed a useful tool. Even though I had reached my intention, but still, the reason evinced beneath his agreement to my request was distressing. I willed my voice not to break or to tone with emotion. I did not want him to guess my thoughts, or to give him a notion that I was emotionally enticed by him, because I was not any other sentimental girl nor a vulnerable, love-sick one as the world had judged me to be. I pulled the phone away from my cheek so that Landon could not hear my sniffs. I quickly arranged a time with him and hung up.

I spent the rest of the afternoon, reading the Bible instead of blindly sitting on the porch waiting helplessly for Landon. Then, I let my thoughts run its will and stared eagerly at the door. My mind flew and lingered all upon Landon. What did _he_ think of me? Everything but good. Was I _that_ terrible? Definitely, to him. What about the prom? _The prom? _He had entirely forgotten about _me_ and the fact that _he_ was the one who asked me out to the dance. The dance. Why did I keep holding on to that beautiful memory when all that he had done to it was forgetting? He had erased it all from his unbelievable mind, and only if I could do it too…

Each streak burned my cheeks as I recalled the callous ignorance he had bestowed upon me on almost every school day. On rare occasions, I had caught his sight and they flickered with recognition for merely a split second. Then he hastily turned away, not in the nick of time to escape my gaze though, and returned his attention on his friends, as if he had decided to pay no heed to the obscene entity that he had just perceived. And every time he did that, the wound in my heart tore wider. I was a foolish, imprudent, reckless girl who even had the guts to trust my own senses to _watch_ him. I had even asked him not to fall in love with _me_. I laughed at my cynicism. I did not even have to _get_ him to promise me initially if I knew that he would be treating me this aloofly now. Who did I think I was?

The bell rang, interrupting my thoughts. I rushed to the bathroom to remove the evidence of tears before welcoming Landon's arrival. Seeing his charming face, it was difficult to imagine that he actually despised me so much. We sat in the porch, like the last time he came over. Unlike before, this talk was not anything that would raise my dreams. He was not, and was never, going to ask me out this time or ever again.

"Thank you for coming, Landon," I forced the cheerfulness out of my voice. "I know you're busy, but I appreciate your taking the time to do this."

"So, what's so important?" His patience started to wear off.

I fidgeted nervously. How could I voice this request? Landon did not seem to be the type of boy who would willingly participate in such a frivolous, in his opinion, activity. I would not be strong enough to accept his spiteful refusal, if he would, especially if he would _refuse_ in helping me accomplish my greatest dream – a success to the Christmas play.

It was extremely difficult to begin, but I eventually managed to choke out a prelude, "I wanted to ask you a favor."

"A favor?"

I nodded and sighed, looking down, "I'd like to ask you if you wouldn't mind playing Tom Thornton in the school play."

Tom Thornton was the leading male character, the man in search of the music box for his daughter as the perfect Christmas gift. He was the one who met the angel. And it was the most significant role, after the angel role itself, of course.

"Well," he hesitated, scratching his head. "I don't know. I thought Eddie Jones was going to be Tom." He paused, "that's what Ms. Garber told us." He looked confused, and a fleeting thought that he was rather adorable in that fashion amused me slightly, pulling me out of my pessimistic mood.

"Ms. Garber didn't say that exactly. What she said was that Eddie could have the role if no one else tried out for it." I was playing with the words, which was, in reality, true.

"Can't someone else do it instead?" He seemed reluctant. He sunk back into his contemplations. A frown formed on his face. I tried to break into his thoughts and examined his shifting expression. Was he pondering that…he might have to meet me very frequently if he accepted my request? I could barely breathe. Why did he have to be like that?

"What about Jeff Bangert? He might do it," Landon offered. I had a compelling desire to interrogate him, to elucidate our relationship: why was he acting the way he was – impersonally – to me? But I was afraid of exposing my sturdy, inert veneer that I had tamed for so long.

"He can't," I shook my head, "His father's sick, and he has to work in the store after school until his father gets back on his feet."

"What about Darren Woods?"

"He broke his arm last week when he slipped on the boat. His arm is in a sling." I breathed heavily, relieving my anger towards Landon.

"Really?" Landon seemed concerned suddenly, faking, "I didn't know that."

"I've been praying about it, Landon," I sighed, "I'd really like this play to be special this year, not for me, but because of my father. I want it to be the best production ever. I know how much it will mean to him to see me be the angel, because this play reminds him of my mother…" I paused. Would he ever comprehend the grave importance of this play to me? It was the remnants of my life, the remnants of my hope, the remnants of my breath and strength. "It would be terrible if the play was a failure this year, especially since I'm involved." I stopped, closing my eyes to hold back my tears. I recollected my thoughts and swiftly phrased my words in my head before continuing in case if I leaked out anything about my secret. "I know Eddie would do the best he could, I really do. And I'm not embarrassed to do the play with him, I'm really not. Actually, he's a very nice person, but he told me that he's having second thoughts about doing it. Sometimes people at school can be so…so…cruel, and I don't want Eddie to be hurt."

I breathed. I fully understood the cruelty of people at school, being an experienced girl. I hope Landon would receive the underlying implication beneath that comment, even though I was clearly aware of his inexperience. I continued, "But…but the real reason I'm asking is because of my father. He's such a good man, Landon. If people make fun of his memory of my mother while I'm playing the part…well, that would break my heart. And with Eddie and me…" the two freaks in people's eyes, "you know what people would say."

Landon nodded gravely, seeming to understand. I could not conceive his expression as I was controlling my emotions hard. I could be a bit too overwhelming on this sensitive topic. The last thing I had to accomplish in life. _The last thing_, at least.

I continued, "I know that challenges are always part of the Lord's plan, but I don't want to believe that the Lord is cruel, especially to someone like my father. He devotes his life to God, he gives to the community. And he's already lost his wife and has had to raise me on his own. And I love him so much for it…" Especially after I die, he would be in terrible anguish, and I would owe him for eternity.

Tears flowed uncontrollably. I turned away from Landon. No, he should not see me at my weakest point. I wish the tears would dry instantly, but it would not. I wiped my tears in defeat of betraying myself.

I whispered to Landon, softly, "I'm not asking you to do it for me. I'm really not, and if you say no, I'll still pray for you. I promise. But if you'd like to do something kind for a wonderful man who means so much to me…Will you just think about it?" I pleaded.

"I don't have to think about it," Landon said, finally. My heart stopped. Was he refusing me? "I'll do it."

I could barely believe my ears. _Landon_ Carter agreed? Oh, God, thank you so much! I knew that He would always be looking after me, He would always be there. And He was. Oh, how grateful I was!

Through my tears, I grinned, thankful.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm really sorry, everyone. Chapter eight will be right up.**


	9. Plans

**CHAPTER EIGHT: **_**Plans**_

A few days after that miraculous Sunday, it was confirmed that Landon would be assuming the role of Tom Thornton. Eddie, after drama class, stopped me and gave me a relieved and grateful look. I was pleased, pleased to be able to protect Eddie from the cruelty of the students here. After all, how much time had I left that enables me to help out others?

Eddie, at least, received the role of the bum, a mute and poor man, whom the angel had to console him that God would watch out for him especially. This was one of the main themes that Dad tried to emphasize in his play – God offers salvation to such unfortunate people. And this was a belief I held faith in for my entire life; God would bestow me with His salvation and allow a miracle to happen in my life.

Anyway, the rehearsals started. We had to start memorizing our lines, particularly Landon and I. It was a rather effortless task for me, since I understood the plot of the play well. In fact, I knew everyone's lines already. I was a bit worried for Landon though. He did not seem the responsible type of boy who would ensure his job done punctually. And we only had three weeks till the long-awaiting Christmas play.

For drama class, we rehearsed for every period, and rehearsals took place in the classroom. We were not allowed to practice on stage, since the props were antiques, and once we knock them down, the substandard materials would fall apart and shatter. It frequently occurred before when the props were used in almost each rehearsal, and Dad, in addition to his enormous work load, had to fix them through the night. Of course, I helped, since it broke my heart to see him mend the insubstantial objects clumsily.

During rehearsals, Landon constantly fumbled over his lines. I should not be astonished, since I should have expected this result. However, I was putting up some hope to see him work hard.

Landon signing up for the Tom Thornton part ignited rumors all over the school that spread like wildfire in a dense forest. In the morning, I overheard a group of girls who was whispering a bit too loudly that Landon had a crush on me. I mocked at that irony as I strolled by them. Landon despised me to death.

By the time it was lunch, I was rumored to be engaged to Landon. I could almost laugh in immense sorrow and anguish. I tried to picture Landon next to me, smiling in his suit and I in my bride dress. All I had wanted was this – an ideal marriage with the one I loved. And the greatest rue in my entire life was that I had yet to find my soul mate, and I only had a few months left – how slim were the chances? Love could not happen in such a slender amount of time.

Tears almost welled up at the corner of my eyes, but before it did, I dashed out of the cafeteria to the ladies'. There were a few girls there, fixing their make-up. I did not try to interrupt them and locked myself up in a cubicle. My grief was overwhelming as I tightly controlled the empowering emotions. I forced myself not to sniff and heard the girls shuffled out of the bathroom. I was alone.

I came out and stared into the mirror. No one was there, but when I could cry, the tears would not flow. There was an obstinate rock at my throat, a robust pressure acted upon my chest, a force stifling my lungs. The image I had pictured in the cafeteria floated to my conscious mind. My face was streaked with tear marks, a forced, unhappy smile etched upon my visage. And instead of a jovial Landon next to me, there was a boy with a wry grin, a teasing, a cynical one curling up in one side. It was Landon's smile when he saw me with his friends. The smile that animated his face and accompanied his malicious laughter when gossiping about me with his friends. His friends. Why did he bother so much about what his friends thought of him?

I returned to the cafeteria, in my usual unruffled posture. The rumors burned around me, but I sat and indulged myself into my Bible. Why, I forced my attention all into the words, but I read through the words, its meaning entered into my mind and vanished instantly. All I was aware of was the distant yet palpable sound of Eric's voice. And Landon's, of course.

He had told his friends, jokingly, of all the bizarre things that I had, supposedly, done. He supposedly confided into them that Ms. Garber had required him to do the play. He supposedly declared that he did not even _care_ about the scripts, and that he did not even _attempt_ to skim through the lines at home.

All those words he had said were things he cooked up. And all those words hurt me thoroughly until I could stand them no more and, without packing, grabbed my stuff and fled from Landon.

The following days, I entirely ignored Landon. I could not stand to even stare at his face during rehearsals. From his performance, I was sure he had not touched his scripts at home, _again_.

It was until that Saturday evening when I decided that _he_ was not going to ruin the play. I walked to his home. He was not in; his mom informed me that he was at the waterfront with his friends for dinner. I immediately shot for there. I did not visit that place often, so it took quite some effort to reach my destination. I began my search.

It was not easy. I had to skim past street by street, looking out mainly for restaurants. Finally, I spotted him at Cecil's Diner. I rushed over towards that restaurant, and he became aware of my coming since he tried to hide his face from the windows. I wanted to laugh at his disastrous disguise, but I realized that he _despised_ seeing me that much and felt a pang of disappointment.

I finally made my way there. "Hello, Landon." Following, I greeted the rest of his friends politely. I could tell that they were jeering at Landon and me inside, but they tried to cloak their taunts. I caught Landon's purposeful scorn at me, but I decided to ignore it. What could be more important than the Christmas play?

I turned to Eric, my ex-neighbor a long time ago. "How are you doing, Eric? I haven't seen you around much recently." That was a lie. I had just heard from him a few days back.

"Well, I haven't been to church lately."

I smiled, trying to be cordial, "Well, that's okay, I suppose, as long as it doesn't become a habit or anything."

"It won't."

Silence blanketed the table. Eyes were gazing at each other restlessly. Margaret broke the silence. "You want a beer?"

I was almost dumbfounded by her invitation. My dad and I were the largest opposition towards alcohol, and everyone in this small town knew it well. However, I quickly composed myself readily, "Oh…no, not really…thank you though."

I quickly turned my sight to Landon. "Well, you did really well this week at rehearsals. I know you've got a lot of lines to learn, but I'm sure you're going to get them all real soon. And I just wanted to thank you for volunteering like you did. You're a real gentleman." _How's that?_ I thought. _Here's a little taste of your medicine, Landon._ I hoped he got my sarcasm, and I figured that his friends ought to know the truth.

"Thanks," Landon murmured, lost for words, too embarrassed to look at his friends, though his cheeks burned at the stares he was receiving.

"Your friends should be proud of you," I added.

"Oh, we are," Eric replied harmoniously. "Very proud. He's a good guy, that Landon, what with his volunteering and all."

I caught that sarcasm meant especially for Landon. I smiled at Eric and watched Landon closely. "I also wanted to tell you that if you need any help, you can come by anytime. We can sit on the porch like we did before, and go over your likes if you need to."

At the corner of my eyes, I glimpsed that Eric mouthed "like we did before" to Margaret. I wanted Landon to understand how frustrating and wearisome it was for me when he callously invented the contents that he had told his friends that day.

Landon looked like he was on the verge of exploding. "That's okay," he hesitated, "I can learn them at home."

Eric interrupted, "Well, sometimes it helps if someone's there to read with you, _Landon_."

"No, really," Landon protested, "I'll learn the lines on my own."

"Maybe," Eric contemplated, scheming, "you two should practice in front of the orphans, once you've got it down a little better. Sort of a dress rehearsal, you know? I'm sure they'd love to see it."

I heard Eric's plan, and I frenzied over it. It had been such a while since I visited the orphanage, and it would be such an enormous surprise for the kids there! Besides, it might boost Landon to memorize his lines quickly, since he was the conceited type who would not want to be embarrassed easily, especially in front of a bunch of kids.

I turned to Eric, excited, "Do you think so?"

Eric nodded, "I'm sure of it. Landon was the one who thought of it first, but I know that if I was an orphan, I'd love something like that, even if it wasn't exactly the real thing."

"Me too," Margaret added.

"It was Landon's idea?" I voiced my doubt unknowingly, creasing my brow. I stared at Landon dubiously.

"You'd like to do that, wouldn't you, Landon? Helping the orphans, I mean," Eric chimed.

Landon looked perplexed. "I reckon so," giving Eric a cold, hard stare.

Eric smiled, "Good then, it's all settled. That's if it's okay with you, Jamie."

"Well, yes, I supposed I'll have to talk to Ms. Garber and the director of the orphanage, but if they say it's okay, I think it would be a fine idea."

I bade goodbye, and before I stepped out of the restaurant, I caught a glimpse of Eric glowering at Landon, preparing for a tough inquisition for Landon.

* * *

**Author's Note: My apologies again! This time, everything should be right. And chapter eleven will be up today too for my blunder.**

**This is the correct chronology:**

**1. Prologue  
2. (Ch.1) Drama and Life (Part I)  
3. Drama and Life (Part II)  
4. (Ch.2) Gossips  
5. (Ch. 3) Prom Surprise  
6. (Ch. 4) Daddy Obstacle  
7. (Ch. 5) A Zealous Prom Preperation  
8. (Ch. 6) Prom with the Student Body President  
_9. (Ch. 7) Taking Action  
10. (Ch. 8) Plans  
_11. (Ch. 9) Orphanage with Landon  
12. (Ch. 10) Walks to Remember  
13. (Ch. 11) Conflict Arising**

**Thank you all!**


	10. Orphanage

**Author's Note: For those of you wondering why there is a repetitive chapter again (in your story alerts) or why there are two new inserted chapters, here is my explanation. I realized that I have left out two big portions that I neglected in the computer folder while uploading the other chapters. So I found out my blunder so I am trying to correct it.**

**For those who have yet read the previous two chapters, please do! They are a big part of the entire story (just as well as every part of the story). Thank you!**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE: **_**The Orphanage With Landon**_

Landon and I spoke to Ms. Garber on the very Monday afternoon. She was clearly impressed, particularly by Landon's keenness for the orphanage performance. She kept humming "marvelous!" especially during class.

We rehearsed for the trillionth time. This time, however, Landon had taken on his lines smoothly. They flowed lightly, naturally. That smoothness insinuated effort, and with that notion, I felt pleased and at ease for the performance. Although he might have skipped on the emotions a handful, but his performance was simply splendid, and I could not have found a better word for him. Eric's brilliant scheme had taken effect – it really forced Landon into memorizing his lines. I caught myself staring at him in awe several times, and lowered my glance before my keen stares were discovered. My heart warmed at the sight of him, though.

After class, I pulled Landon aside. I could feel the buzz instigated around us as people ogled at our close proximity. I whispered to him, thrilled. "There's no way you would know, but I've been wondering what to do for the orphanage this year. I've been praying about it for months now because I want this Christmas to be the most special one of all."

Landon eyed at me, guarded, "Why is this Christmas so important?"

I could have almost spilled everything that I had tried to conceal – that secret that I feared most – to him, Landon, but I felt the strong presence of eyes upon us, and stuck to my usual, pretentious self.

I smiled at him, "It just is."

That night, I talked to Dad about the orphanage plan. He was extremely supportive of the idea but was, as usual, excessively doubtful about Landon.

"Are you _sure_ that it is Landon who signed up for _my_ play, auditioned, and received the role? The male _leading_ actor? Oh, really, no joke, Jamie. Who were the judges this year for the auditions? Are they blind?" He coughed, "Sorry, I didn't literally mean that. But did they make a _mistake_? How can Landon _help_ in the success of the play this year? He's only capable of _hindering_ it! Oh, Lord, please, no…"

I would not know how to soothe his fury towards Landon, since I still believed, despite the latter's cruelty towards me, that there was a part of him that was benign. And _I_ wanted to enlighten that compassionate side.

I called Mr. Jenkins, the director of the orphanage, that night, and arranged to meet him the next evening with Landon. He gladly agreed, seeing that it had been a while since I visited the kids. "Oh, they would be so glad to see you, Jamie. They missed you so much, I can tell," he added. I had missed the kids too. I always felt a strong sense of empathy towards the kids, which connected us together. Their greatest loss in life was their beloved parents. Mine was my health. We each had our own sufferings, and these anguish we endured molded us to who we were. The Lord took care of people like us specially, and would, I'm sure, offer us a blissful path of life one day, even as the hopeful salvation. Even if no one else on earth could empathize with the agony I experienced, I was sure that the orphans could understand. And I had always believed that I might even be able to distribute some love that the kids deserved.

I informed Landon that we would be visiting Mr. Jenkins that very evening, and the astonishment upon his countenance was one I had taken by surprise. Hadn't I mentioned about the trip? It placed me in fearful trepidation until he requested to go home and collect his car so that he could drive me to the orphanage. I, relieved, agreed.

The walk to his house was fairly extensive. We strolled in silence, and occasionally I would ask a few questions that popped into my mind. Although I hoped that Landon would be more gregarious towards me, but I kept my hopes unvoiced. It was his right to be silent around me, anyway.

We walked up to his doorstep, and suddenly, it occurred to me that I had not given Landon sufficient notice for him to inform his mom about my arrival. I did not want to be impolite, especially if it was the first time I visited his home. However, before I could voice my sudden panic, Landon unlocked the door, and, for that instant, I allayed my fears transitory as I observed the interior in a dreamy daze.

His home was elaborately decorative. It was paradise. There were beautiful, sophisticated paintings hung delicately down the walls, crying out in elegance. Many portraits in monotones were framed on the lined walls – I guessed that those people were Landon's ancestors. I scrutinized their appearances, subliminally looking out for a resemblance to Landon. Then I turned to the furnishings – the sofa, the coffee table – that stood out in front of me. They were exhaustively carved and furnished, specially designed for each room. Each possessed its own singular style. The room and the furniture seemed like they came in a set – in their own particular fashion sense. I stared in awe. It vaguely aroused a déjà vu within me which I searched hastily for identification – homecoming dance. That was where Landon's decorating artistic ability was enthused.

Landon politely toured me around the house. They had an extensive library that could have sufficed to be my entire home if I lived in their house. Mrs. Carter, perhaps, heard our footsteps and came indoors from the sun porch to greet me. We exchanged pleasantries and chatted casually while Landon stepped out. I told her all about our plan with the orphanage, and she seemed pretty staggered that it was Landon's plan to do so – I guessed everyone understood Landon's personality rather well to remark his plan in disbelief.

Landon joined us, struggling with his tie. He looked handsome, suave, in his formal suit. It roused inferiority within me – why, I should have dressed up more decently instead.

Mrs. Carter turned to Landon and stared at him outlandishly, "So this was your idea?"

Landon cleared his throat, "Kind of."

She raised an eyebrow. "Amazing."

"We'd better be going," Landon announced to me, staring at his watch.

I nodded. "It was nice to talk to you, Mrs. Carter."

She smiled and said her goodbye, then when Landon was walking me to the car, she shouted, "Come on over anytime, Jamie! You're always welcome here."

I nodded and smiled at her, uncertain if she could see it though.

Landon opened the door and I stepped in daintily. "Your mother's a wonderful lady," I told him when he slid into the driver's seat.

"Yeah," he replied, hesitating, "I guess so."

"And your house is beautiful."

"Uh-huh."

"You should count your blessings."

"Oh, I do," he said, "I'm practically the luckiest guy alive."

I caught that trace of sarcasm, but ignored it. I had resolved that Landon would not be potent of hurting my feelings so simply anymore.

The sky was darkening when we arrived at the orphanage. Mr. Jenkins was busy at the phone, so we waited in the hallway outside his office. I brought my Bible with me – afterall, it already became a habit that I had to seek comfort within it.

"You did really well today," I struck up a conversation, meaning to keep it casual. "With your lines, I mean."

"Thanks. I still haven't learned my beats, though," he offered humbly. It was rare on such tone.

"You will. They're easy once you know all the words."

"I hope so."

I smiled, my thoughts flying far as they would. I struck into my pensive mode, with the silence thudding between us. "Do you ever think about the future, Landon?"

"Yeah…sure," he remarked, apparently taken aback by my abrupt twist in topic. "I guess so."

"Do you know what you want to do with your life?"

He shrugged, probably not he had not given much thought to such a vast, surreal topic. "I don't know yet," he replied cautiously, "I haven't figured that part out. I'm going to UNC (University of North Carolina) next fall, at least I hope so. I have to get accepted first."

"You will."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've prayed for that, too." And I did, I prayed for everything to be fine for Landon almost every night, for myself, and for Daddy. I was not aware of when that habit of praying for _Landon_ individually began, but it did anyway.

"How about after college? What do you want to do then?" I shot the question. He looked wary, awkward, but I could not help it. I wanted to know the plans people had for the future, to seek comfort in knowing that others had a future, and it was not merely nearing the end of the world.

"I don't know. Maybe I'll…be a one-armed lumberjack."

I paused, deliberating. "Maybe you should become a minister. I think you're good with people, and they'd respect what you have to say."

I could tell that he wanted to sneer at that comment initially, but something altered his reaction. "Thanks," he said, "I don't know if I'll do that though, but I'm sure I'll find something." He paused. "How about you? What do you want to do in the future?"

I had taken most fright in such question. Never had it crossed my mind that the question would be rebutted back to the former. How could I tell him that I had no future? That I was dying? How could I tell him that all I feared in my life was the unknown happening that might happen to me in the _future_? How could I tell him that my time was up? My future was bleak.

I turned away, breathing the tears back into my eyes. My chest heaved heavily, as if burdened by a ton of load. I had been exceptionally emotional recently, especially since time was ticking, like a time bomb implanted within my body. I gazed out into space, ruminating seriously this time. What did I _really_ want? Before I would die?

I snapped out of my thoughts quickly when the words rushed out before I could control them. "I want to get married. And when I do, I want my father to walk me down the aisle and I want everyone I know to be there. I want the church bursting with people."

Landon stared at me, astounded, "That's all?"

"Yes, that's all I want."

"Well, you'll get married someday," he tried to console me, "You'll meet some guy and the two of you will hit it off, and he'll ask you to marry him. And I'm sure that your father will be happy to walk you down the aisle."

I contemplated through his words. _Would I have time for that miracle?_

"I hope so," I replied monotonously, enclosing the topic, hopefully.

"So how long have you been coming to the orphanage?" Landon asked conversationally. _Thank you_, I sighed to myself.

Then I recalled, in response to his question. Since the years after my mother had died… "Seven years now. I was ten years old the first time I came. I was younger than a lot of the kids here."

"Do you enjoy it, or does it make you sad?"

"Both, actually. Some of the children here came from really horrible situations. It's enough to break your heart when you hear about it. But when they see you come in with some books from the library or a new game to play, their smiles just take all the sadness away. It's the greatest feeling in the world." I smiled at those recollections that floated up in my mind.

Mr. Jenkins, that moment, came out and invited us into his ever-so-familiar office. I introduced Landon to him, and they shook their polite gesture. I hugged Mr. Jenkins, and I started off explaining our plan for the play.

"I don't think it's a good idea," he said regretfully after I was done with my explanation.

"Why not?" My brows furrowed, unable to comprehend his opinion.

Mr. Jenkins sighed. "Even though it's a wonderful offer and I know you'd like to do something special, the play is about a father who eventually comes to realize how much he loves his daughter." He stopped, and I too shocked to get the denotation into my head. "Christmas is hard enough around here without reminding the kids of what they're missing. I think that if the children see something like that…" he trailed off.

The explanation Mr. Jenkins was trying to convey finally settled into my mind, I gasped. "Oh, my. You're right. I hadn't thought about that."

Instead, we discussed about other plans and bade farewell soon after. However, the anticipation I had raised for the play fell hard, and the trouble posed by my inconsiderate proposal lingered.

I walked off, dejected. My head hung, as I brainstormed about other events to organize for the kids. Guilty did not spare me mercy, and as if Landon could feel my emotions, he said, "I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"I am, too," I sighed, "I just wanted to do something different for them this year. Something special that they would remember forever. I thought for sure this was it…The Lord seems to have a plan that I just don't know about yet."

The bitterness welled up in my bosom. It was my last Christmas with those kids, those adorable kids. I wanted them to have the best Christmas they ever had.

"While we're here," Landon suddenly added, "do you want to stop in to see the kids? I could wait out here while you talk to them, or go to the car if you want."

The kids! "Would you like to visit them with me?" I offered.

He looked apprehensive, hesitant. But I stared at him, with slight hopes hanging.

"Sure, I'll go," he gave in to my silent pleas.

I smiled at him, "They'll be in the rec room now. That's where they usually are at this time."

We walked in silence. With Landon by my side, even though I had walked through the hallways a million times, but this time was different. It _felt_ different. He seemed a wholly different person having agreed to a request I had never expected him to give in.

Upon our arrival, Landon closely scrutinized the area and the bustle of the kids.

"What are the newspaper for?" he questioned, abruptly.

"They don't have coloring books, so they use newspaper," I explained, ensuring that no one could hear us.

"Are these all the toys they have?"

"Yes, except for the stuffed animals. They're allowed to keep those in their rooms. This is where the rest of the things are kept."

As we took our step into the room, and the kids stopped their work and turned to us. Their curious expressions turned into surprise and pure blissfulness. Some of them rushed like a ravenous pack towards us.

"Jamie!" Roger, an eight years old boy, screamed and ran towards me. His smile animated his face, with radiant happiness that washed off all my troubles.

"Hey, Roger! How are you?" I greeted him gleefully.

The kids gradually started crowding around Landon and me. I introduced Landon to them, and they, indeed, liked him a lot. They bombarded him with questions – simple questions to satiate their mere curiosity. They had once asked me if Landon was my boyfriend.

I laughed, "He's just a friend, but he's very nice."

The hour flew quick. It was already pitch black outside, the slim moon illuminated. I promised to be back with the kids soon, but was cautious in not promise them that Landon would be back too. I could not bear to offer them an empty promise.

"They are a nice bunch of kids," Landon commented while we walked to his car. "I'm glad that you want to help them."

I merely smiled at him. Besides, how could he know my condition well enough to understand why I did so?

* * *

_**A/N: **Hey guys! Once again, a big thank you for reading up to this note! Indeed, it has been a while since I last published. But I've been scratching out some time here and there to edit this large portion of the chapters before I update! I've spent more time writing than editing for the most part, but at least, the future few chapters are ensured!_

_Enjoy! :)_


	11. Walks to Remember

**CHAPTER TEN: **_**Walks to Remember**_

Beaufort was swept into the bitterest part of winter. Recently, I had taken no awareness of the gradual changes in weather, so the arrival of the harsh season caught me by surprise when I walked out of school one day and noticed that the sky was already dark right after drama class.

This sudden realization induced another epiphany. I did not have much time left, did I? Time was ticking, ticking too fast.

I had prayed for many things, and for everyone. But out of these millions prayers I made, the one I pinned my hopes upon, the only one that would suffice, was a miracle, and simply and merely a miracle. But months were left. Nothing could make me believe that a short time frame could fabricate a phenomenal marvel.

My thoughts proceeded to question myself. Besides wishing on an empty cloud, was there _anything_, any possible thing, at all that could make my life worth _something_ for the next few months? Anything to avoid the tragic irrelevance of my death? I knew I had to do something with Daddy. I knew I could not alleviate all the pain I wrought upon him, without even being able to allay my fears. But then again, the questioning possibility of it reiterated in my head like a broken record. But how?

Like some unfathomable and inexplicable phenomenon, I saw the way out.

Landon.

I figured that clinging on to a false hope was wholly hopeless, and to be truthful, Landon despised me, or so I thought. And I loathed him too. But deep down inside, I truly know myself, that I was stifling some truth, some honesty. Forcing myself to believe that my loath towards him was genuine was a foolish and idiosyncratic way to save myself from all the misery of unrequited love.

Maybe there was something more to us than what I thought could be possible.

But in any case, my feelings for him were purely unrequited, unreturned. And _my_ feelings did not matter anyhow – feelings would die off with my body. _Daddy's_ feelings, however, was another story. They could not diminish in any possible way – they were going to live with him for the rest of his life, for years and years and endless years.

I had probably figured out how Landon could play this role of aid in the first day of school. I just had not spared much thought for it.

So, after drama class one evening, I plucked up my courage and asked Landon to walk me home. It was no easy task to do so when knowing the prospect of being rejected was rather distinctive. But my feelings were nothing but deception.

I had not hoped for the best; therefore I was especially moved when he had agreed to walk home with me, though there was a slight hesitation in his eyes. I could not decipher the reason being, but I simply went along with it.

That first night, Landon walked by my side, his head hunched back in that same ruminating stance. He seemed to have a lot teeming through his mind such that _I_ had to sacrifice time for him to ponder through the deliberations. I waited while I tried to stifle the disappointing fact that my heart welled up in loath the silence that he did not notice. The disappointment augmented so exponentially that I could not endure it any longer.

"Is it true you and your friends sometimes go to the graveyard at night?"

Landon roused and stared at me for a fleeting moment, collecting himself from his blank countenance as if my existence was forgotten. He composed quickly and shrugged, "Yeah, sometimes."

"What do you do there, besides eat peanuts?" I continued.

"I don't know. Talk, joke around… It's just a place we like to go."

"Does it ever scare you?"

"No, why? Would it scare _you_?"

I formed a mental vision of the eerie graveyard, the sacred tombstones, the uncanny silence. Walking on the soil that comprised of what used to be people. A shiver ran up my spine. Would I end up like that one day? "I don't know. It might."

"Why?"

"Because…I'd worry that I might do something wrong." A rational but inaccurate reply.

"We don't do anything bad there. I mean, we don't knock over the tombstones or leave our trash around." He pursed his lips a moment, intending to commend, but deciding against it eventually.

"Do you ever just sit around and listen to the sounds? Like the crickets chirping, or the rustling of leaves when the wind blows? Or do you ever just lie on your backs and stare at the stars?"

A smile played along his lips. "Not really."

I nodded. "I think that's what I'd do if I were there, if I ever go, I mean. I'd just look around to really see the place, or sit quietly and listen."

Silence relapsed. I mentally analyzed Landon's answers, puzzled, baffled. He had an idiosyncratic interest.

"So," Landon started, "what do you do? Besides working with the orphans or helping critters or reading the Bible, I mean?"

I snickered. I was that simple and boring in his eyes. "I do a lot of things. I study for my classes, I spend time with my dad. We play gin rummy now and then. Things like that."

"Do you ever just go off with friends and goof around?"

"No." What _friends_ could I have?

"I'll bet you're excited about going off to college next year," Landon abruptly changed the subject.

I stumped. College – a word that I would never, ever have to worry about and that I never, ever have to spare a thought about. The school that I would never, ever enter.

"I don't think I'm going to go."

"What about Mount Sermon? I thought that's where you were planning to go. You'd love a place like that."

I laughed, a bit too forcefully, "You mean I'd fit right in there, don't you?"

"I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that I'd heard about how excited you were to be going there next year." He turned away.

Hurtful rumors. I shrugged.

"Thank you for walking me home, Landon."

He nodded, smiled slightly, and turned his back on me. My eyes followed him until he was out of sight, leaving me to evaluate our conversation that night.

It was another night when Landon appeared in my dreamland.

The following night, Landon walked me home again. I finally managed to bring up the subject I was hoping for _casually_.

I had asked him about his father.

"He's all right, I reckon," he replied generally, "But he's not around much."

"Do you miss that? Not growing up with him around?"

"Sometimes."

"I miss my mom, too," I admitted, "even though I never even knew her." It was tough searching for the perfect words to accurately express my thoughts, since I had never spoken to anyone about mom.

"It must be hard for you," Landon commented. "Even though my father's a stranger to me, at least he's still around."

I hesitated, uncertain if I should speak my thoughts aloud. "It is, sometimes. Don't get me wrong – I love my father with all my heart – but there are times when I wonder what it would have been like to have a mother around. I think she and I would have been able to talk about things in a way that my father and I can't."

That was the thing. The thorn in our hearts – my father's and mine – was the brutal fact that my death was imminent. I could feel the burning tears, my breaths slowed, deep and steady, trying to breathe back the tears. I cleared my throat.

"What's it like, living with your father? Is he like how he is in church?"

"No, he's actually got a pretty sense of humor."

It was true, though Landon stifled his laughter of disbelief unsuccessfully. "Hegbert?"

Calling my Dad's first name was something I was certainly not used to, but I tried to ignore it. "Don't look so surprised. You'll like him, once you get to know him." I spoke the last sentence with absolute vehemence, precision, and gravity.

"I doubt if I'll ever get to know him."

"You'll never know, Landon," I smiled, "what the Lord's plan is."

"How would I ever get to know him?"

_You'll see_, I smiled to myself.

"Why do you always carry it with you?" Landon asked me on the third night.

I did not have to ask him what he meant, because it was rather patent. I walked a few steps forward, nibbling on my lips.

"It was my mother's."

"Oh," he sounded… discomfited, apologetic to bring up that hurtful topic again.

"It's okay, Landon. How could you have known?"

"I'm sorry I asked."

"Don't be. You didn't mean anything by it." I paused, scavenging for the suitable words to phrase my thought. "My mother and father were given this Bible for their wedding, but my mom was the one who claimed it first. She read it all the time, especially whenever she was going through a hard time in her life." I breathed, giving him a pause brief enough to insinuate that my dialogue had yet ended.

"She loved to read it at night before she went to sleep, and she had it with her in the hospital when I was born. When my father found out she had died, he carried the Bible and me out of the hospital at the same time."

I hoped he had grasped the underlying message of the Bible's vast importance. But I could not tell since he merely replied, "I'm sorry…"

"It just gives me a way to…to be a part of her. Can you understand that?" I pried.

Landon seemed to contemplate about the story I had just narrated. I walked on, looking at the surroundings through the dimness, when suddenly a car screeched to stop by the roadside.

Eric and Margaret. Landon looked up, a word of "horror" written across his face.

"Well, lookee who we have here," Eric leaned over to us, a cheeky smile broad across his lips.

"Hello, Eric. Hello, Margaret." I greeted them.

"Walking her home, Landon?" Eric jeered.

"Hey, Eric," Landon whispered.

"It's a beautiful night for strolling, isn't it?"

I smiled at Eric, trying to pull Landon out of his discomfort. "Yes, it is."

A thoughtful look flashed past Eric's face as he took a breath, "Boy, it really is nice out there. I'd offer you a ride, but it wouldn't be half as nice as actually walking under the stars, and I wouldn't want you two to miss it." A playful smile curled on his lips once more.

I realized that Landon was trying to distance himself from me gradually by talking little steps away, hoping I would not notice. The same, dejected and embarrassed expression played across his face. Did I _shame_ him this much? A transient moment of anger surged within me.

"Oh, we're almost to my house, anyway," I replied Eric, "I was going to offer Landon a cup of cider. Would you like to meet us there? We have plenty."

Landon's eyes widened with bewilderment.

"Oh, no," Eric replied, derision pitched his voice. "That's alright. We were just heading off to Cecil's Diner."

"On a school night?" I inquired, bemused.

"Oh, we won't be out too late, but we should probably get going. Enjoy your cider, you two." He winked slightly at Landon, causing Landon to instinctively flinch and stepped back from me.

"Thanks for stopping to say hello," I waved.

The car drove off. I turned to Landon and smiled, "You have nice friends, Landon."

"Sure I do," he rolled his eyes.

He dropped me off at my doorstep again. I thanked him, but he paid no heed to my thanks and goodnights and pouted away.

By the next day in school, everyone knew that Landon was walking me home. He avoided me as much as possible in school and was not in the cafeteria during lunch.

I had not spoken to him since.

* * *

**Author's Note: My apologies for not updating regularly - been rather busy these days. A big thank you once again for all the reviews and alerts! To be perfectly honest, they are the motivations that has kept this chapter edited then uploaded. (Editing does take quite a plenty of time.) Constant reminders of updating made this chapter possible. :) Thank you all and please keep on reading - it's getting better as Jamie is not technically the always-cordial girl everyone thinks she is. :D**

**Hope this chapter has been good!**


	12. Conflict Arising

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: **_**Conflict Arising**_

At the last rehearsal for the Christmas play, Landon's performance was awful. Even Ms. Garber noticed the regression too, and we exchanged vexed glances occasionally, with the apparent knowledge that the day of the play was round the corner. I still kept my smile on my visage nevertheless, hoping that it would ease Ms. Garber's distress and encourage Landon, though he evaded all my glances.

That night, I asked Landon to walk me home again with a different motive. I needed to talk him into putting effort for the play – tremendous effort. However, seeing that he had been skirting past me all day, I had accurately predicted his answer.

Thank the Lord, Ms. Garber inadvertently overheard my request and told Landon firmly, "You two can talk about the play and work out the kinks."

Landon did not have adequate courage to reject a teacher's request and ended up sulking in front of me. There was something grave amiss, I was certain, and if I understood Landon well enough, I would speculate that he was _ashamed_ of walking home with me after the terrifying experience with his friends last night, and the unceasing buzz about our chemistry. He would not ever _want_ to walk me home again. But it was _me_ who wanted him to walk me home.

"You're not in a very good mood, are you?" I started, "You didn't even try tonight."

"You don't miss a thing, do you?" he replied curtly.

"Maybe I can help," I tried to sound optimistic and hopeful, though I knew that _I_ was the reason of his grumpiness.

"I doubt it."

"Maybe if you told me what was wrong –"

"Look," he interjected harshly, turning to face me, "I've just spent all day hauling crap, I haven't eaten since lunch, and now I have to trek a mile out of my way to make sure you get home, when we both know you don't even need me to do it."

I looked him in the eyes, stupefied. My mind was a racing blank and struggled to make sense of his words. I had never heard him raise his voice so callously before. Not even to me. I heard his words, frantically scouring for a coherent response, but words were choked and stifled back down.

"And the only reason I'm doing this," he continued, "is because of your father, who doesn't even like me. This whole thing is dumb, and I wish I had never agreed to do it."

My heart was pounding hard against my chest and the heartbeats were perceptible. Words were difficult but I somehow managed, convincing myself aloud, "You're just saying this because you're nervous about the play –"

"Don't you get it?" he sighed, maddened, exasperated. "I'm not nervous about the play, I just _don't_ want to be here. I don't _want_ to walk you home, I don't _want_ my friends to keep talking about me, and I don't _want_ to spend time with you. You keep acting like we're friends, but we're not. We're not _anything_. I just want the whole thing to be over so I can go back to my normal life."

Bingo.

So, he hated me. So, I was not his friend: I was nothing to him. I was simply a bug on his nerves the whole time. I was not normal. He should have told me all these earlier so that I would not have to speculate his thoughts. He should have told me earlier so I can keep myself from falling in too deep.

And now, I was in too deep I could not resurface.

"I see," I whispered, trying to comprehend his underlying meaning yet, trying to induce myself to believe that I was dreaming, and I would wake up soon.

But I could not wake up.

His vision blurred and I could not discern his expression: was it hate? Was it frustration? Could it be apologetic?

Abruptly, all the torments of my life arose to my conscious mind. Life was distressing, torturous, and relentless. So why live it?

My death was impending. I had begun to feel lapses of pain occasionally. There was no time left for miracles. Dad had to suffer with me. The Christmas play had to be a failure now. Landon was treating me worse than dirt. I was nothing.

I choked on my tears that flowed like streams of protracted rivers. I willed their halt but without success. Landon, at my silence and mental struggle, turned and stalked off. I heard his footsteps fade off slowly as I stood alone. Did he just walk off? Was he coming back to apologize and renounce his accusations and verbal indictment? I started my way home, then I turned abruptly, summoning all my unbroken voice, I called loud enough, "Thank you for walking me home, Landon."

He stopped, but continued on. I did not go home immediately. I walked alone in the moonlight, pondering. _We're not anything, we're not anything._ _You keep acting like we're friends, but we're not. We're not anything._ Landon's words replayed incessantly in my mind like a broken record. They provoked superfluous tears to flood, my eyes to swell. Did he really mean it? We were not friends at all? I laughed at myself through my tears. I was so stupid. How could I not see that coming? I was his nothing when all the time, he was part of my everything.

But then again, what was of the prom? Why would he invite an arrogant, secluded girl to senior prom? Why would he, in the first place, consent to assuming the major role of the play so kindly? Why did he lift my hopes up then crash them hard? Why did he make me fall for him then ditch me in the cold?

These questions, unanswerable, made my head churn, like I was about to fall and my heart would cease beating. My belly was stirring and performing twisting somersaults and I would throw up anytime.

I coiled myself along the pavement and rested my inundating lids upon my sleeve. I felt the saturation penetrating through the thin cloth forming a vague circle of darker shade. I embraced myself lightly for inadequate comfort and screamed with a restricted voice into my sleeve, inaudible to anyone but myself.

That moonless night by that barren street, I concluded: Even when my death was imminent, Landon would not bother.

* * *

**Author's Note: A sad, depressing chapter indeed. But I assure you, the most depressing has yet arrived.**

**I hope I've updated quick enough this time to satiate your thirst for more of this story :) I speculate that there'll be more than twenty chapters for this entire story; perhaps up till thirty or more, so there's still a long way to go!**

**Thank you all reviewers and readers! Without you guys, this story will not be as animated and vibrant as it is now. Keep on reviewing - I am certainly captivated by my personal curiosity to all your comments and thoughts about my writing. As you all should know, I am trying to improve my writing and diction, because there is a higher level for achievement, as always.**

**I hope to hear your reviews and constructive criticisms! :)**


	13. On Stage

**CHAPTER TWELVE: _On Stage_**

My eyes were still swollen red when I roused. I splattered cold water on them to allay the inflammation, but it worked with imperceptible effects. Dad was excessively concerned in the morning, but I gave the excuse of insomnia and tension from the play on that upcoming night, which steered his thoughts into another direction. To evade from more interrogation, I left home early for school. The walk to school was laborious. Not tiresome physically, but it was a mental struggle, having to take the same path in which the memory was evoked again. Besides having to reason my fear of meeting Landon in school and at the Christmas play that night, the haunting memory of Landon's outburst added to the intricate struggle.

Perhaps, it was in the Lord's plan that I kept meeting Landon between classes when I had placed in superfluous efforts to avoid him. When I saw him, he would instinctively gaze in my direction. I would tune out all external disturbances except my rushing adrenaline and sink back into the crowd, hastily directing my glance elsewhere. The split-second glimpse of his face added to my perplexity: I could not decipher his expression. I had never tried to hide from someone so tenaciously before, but I could finally appreciate the exasperating feelings of bumping into that particular someone beyond regularity.

After school, I went home to prepare for the play, and Daddy would drive me to the Playhouse after that. I must admit, the jitters were coming to me by lunchtime. I felt jumpy all the time, restless, nervous. When Eddie came over to wish me all the best before drama class, I was all shaken by his mere tap on the shoulder. It was the day of my life, I figured. And on the day of my life, I could not get my means: there was no possible way of avoiding Landon that night. So I decided to iron things out with him before the play started. I wanted to skip the awkwardness on stage.

As I thought about Landon, a sudden realization dawned upon me. After midnight, our affiliation would end for good. After the clock struck twelve, Landon's wish would finally come true. He could return to his perfect, normal life without me. And I – oh, I would wholeheartedly forbid myself to imagine of what would come. The play was the force that sustained my strength, my willpower. The disease would devour me soon. I was afraid of what would come and was even more afraid that _nothing_ would come after that.

Before drama class, I had loitered in the locker area until the final second of the bell. I sat at the very back of class because Landon was oddly seated closest to Mrs. Garber. Once we were released, I dashed out of class, dropping a few worksheets and a textbook in the haste to escape from the alarming danger of Landon closing in from behind. After school, I had to dodge the main gate to take the almost desolate gate out of school grounds, ending up walking a longer way home.

Dad was feeling more jumpy than I was. When I reached home, he relentlessly ushered me into my room, commanded me here and there. I had to take a swift shower, adjust my hair neatly and fiddle around again for a more satisfactory look, place on the different dresses Dad had borrowed from his close comrades, and put on different shades make-up to suit the on-and-off dresses. Dad finally allowed me to settle on a full, cascading blue dress with my hair down straight below my shoulders.

When he looked up from his newspaper at my final outfit, he was speechless. His eyes grew sparkly and I was off-guard, afraid that something was strangely amiss. However, my tension was fully alleviated when he murmured gently, "You look like the exact replica of your mother."

With his neatly pressed suit and an evocative tie that my mother had given him on his twenty-fifth birthday, he drove me to the Playhouse. By then, the nervousness took full control over me. Even Daddy was not spared: he clutched his fists tightly on the steering wheel without releasing it until we had arrived and spoke with frequent stutters.

Between the intermittent conversations with Dad, I wondered involuntarily to Landon again. I did not know how to face him in the upcoming confrontation. Would he burst out in furies of wrath and despise again? Would he mortify me in front of everyone and ruin my every mood to realize my dream? Would he enact out his part well, as I had ever asked from him? Or would he _even come?_

That was a devastatingly high probability. Dad did not know of our recent clash, for I did not want to deposit more troubles onto his already troubled mind. Landon is the type of man who would comfortably shake off his responsibility with a serene peace of mind. Perhaps he had not comprehended the importance of this occasion to me. Perhaps it meant nothing more than insignificance to him. Perhaps he despised me so much that he deemed it worthless of his time to help me out. Perhaps I was just so hated.

My trepidations were not allayed with the mounting tension. Instead, they augmented exponentially when I stepped out of the car, nearing my doom.

We arrived at the Playhouse earlier than we had expected, although there were many crew members scampering around with their work. The stage was clear of props, and while Dad toured the backstage with interjected conversations, I orientated the stage, walking from corner to corner to see the audience from each perspective. I smiled at the empty seats to calm my nerves. Instead, I fidgeted more. I feared that I would be vulnerable to any errs on stage.

I was about to return back to the protective walls of the backstage when I saw him gazing, skimming, searching. He stood slightly on his toes, wandering anxiously. I immediately turned back to head for the exit on the opposite side of the stage, but I caught a last glimpse of him making a move towards me just as I turned.

I breathed. My heart was having a personal race and seemed reluctant to end its joy. It was a wholly different edginess that overwhelmed me now. He was here after all, and what more could I ask for? He may have come to take another load off his shoulders by firing fatal bullets into my heart again. But whatever his words, however shaken I would be, he had come thus far already, and it would be a final, final conclusion to the both of us.

I turned.

I could not discern the clashing emotions within me, because once I looked up at him, his charm melted all the fear and apprehension within me. His hair was tidily gelled, his shirt pressed upon his body, accentuating his figure. His features were unblemished, subtly painted with a faint pink. The only absent thing to consummate his perfection was his wide smile. He stared at me in awe and hesitation.

We were at the fringe of the curtain. Landon looked deeply into my eyes. Breathing in deeply with a astounded yet impressed expression, he almost reached out to stroke my hair cascading on my shoulder if he had not caught himself beforehand. I was about to focus on elsewhere to evade the awkwardness in his deep stare when he turned away and skimmed through the backstage. He then returned to me and rested his sight on me for a long, long time, a time that I could not approximate its length. My heart pounded heavily on my chest. Should I greet him? Should I -

He inched his way closer before my thought was complete. My heart leaped, and my fingers played with a thread sticking out of my dress. I willed it to stop, but it continued uncontrollably again. I was vaguely aware of anything but Landon gliding towards me. What should I do?

"Hello, Jamie. Hello, Reverend. Hello, Ms. Garber."

I did not realize that Dad and Ms. Garber were anywhere near. However, I could not care much. For the first time, I did not smile at Landon. "Hello…Landon."

I struggled with speaking of his name. His madness last night had drained me of my optimism towards him. A vague notion abruptly rose into my mind. Maybe I was wrong about Landon after all. He might not have an angel that could dominate the devil in him.

"Could I talk to you, Jamie? Alone?"

I snapped out of my thoughts and was stunned at the word, "alone." I would have agreed without that final request. I hesitated but nodded after Ms. Garber's stared so intently at me that I could have melted the intensity. I caught a vague glimpse of Dad's eyebrows raising so I quickly agreed. The backstage was spinning, and I could barely balance. We retreated to a corner and I leaned against the wall. I looked at Landon, waiting for him to begin.

"I'm sorry about those things I said last night," he started, "I know they probably hurt your feelings, and I was wrong to have said them."

I listened, my brain churning even harder. I was utterly unable to believe my ears, just like the way I did last night. He could not have changed so much in a night.

"Did you mean those things you said?"

"I was just in a bad mood, that's all. I get sort of wound up sometimes."

"I see" was all I said. I turned away. How much could I trust him after last night? Trust was something earned, and he had thrown all of them away yesterday.

"Look," he reached out for my hand, "I promise to make it up to you."

I flinched back, but his tight hands refused to let go. It was warm, and in that strident silence, his penetrating warmth seemed to make the sincerity in his voice palpable. I smiled slowly.

"Thank you."

"Jamie?" It was Ms. Garber this time.

"Yes?"

"I think we're about ready for you."

I turned back to Landon, "I've got to go."

"I know."

"Break a leg?" By tradition, wishing someone luck before a play was bad luck.

He released my hand, and I felt abruptly cold. "We both will," he promised.

Talking to Landon had relieved my nerves, though I was still rather jumpy. Before I stepped out of the curtains into the limelight, I knew that that night would be _my_ night. However, my confidence gave way when I gaped at the massive audience staring up expectantly at me. The silence of concord was vividly perceptible in the entire house.

I rummaged for the first line to begin, which was the vital portion of my role since it kindled the subsequent lines. Thereafter, the words I needed to say flowed out smoothly, and I could purely concentrate on expressing the right emotions to the audiences. Even though I had not touched my script last night, the years of reading the play had surely aided me that night.

The play, _The Christmas Angel_, was about Tom Thornton, a man who had lost his wife during childbirth. He had a crisis of faith in the Lord and had to raise his girl alone. During one Christmas, the girl expressed a strong desire to own a special music box with an angel engraved on it. Tom searched for the musical box arduously but in vain. During that Christmas Eve, when all hopes were lost, Tom met an angel. While helping the angel to spread the Christmas spirit, Tom revealed that the present he wanted most for Christmas was his wife. The angel then led him to a fountain, promising him that he would find what he craved for in it. Instead, he found the face of an angelic girl in the clear waters – his daughter. He cried, realizing that his child was the only remains of his wife and that he had not been a good father that he should have been. On Christmas morning, the music box miraculously appeared under the Christmas tree for his daughter.

When Tom Thornton, Landon's character, first met the angel, which was my role, he was astounded at her beauty and said, "You're beautiful" in an absolutely dazed and mystified tone. Landon, however, had never nailed that line in class, because he apparently could not lie of my beauty while looking at me squarely in the eyes. Though I felt slightly affronted, I had to concur with him – if I was another person, I would never consider myself to be any pretty. However, for the play, that line was the line that I was most worried about, the line that I had prayed to God for – to not ruin the play.

When Landon stepped out of the veiled shadows of the curtains, he was absolutely nervous. I saw him calm his nerves by taking deep breaths, and he had never looked at the audience once. He locked his eyes into mine, and as he slid forward and stopped in front of me. I was breathless when his face was inches before mine. I gazed back deep into his eyes, lost. I seemed to have revolved into a realm where it was only Landon and I together.

His lips parted, and he spoke, softly through the microphone, as if declaring his love, "You're beautiful."

For the first time, I utterly trusted those two words.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello Readers. My apologies once again for the extremely long break from updating. It's been utterly busy and I've placed a note for you all in the Reviews section since I would not want to post another "chapter" to notify you of my long break yet dropping all your hopes for a new chapter.**

**Hope this chapter - the long awaited play - has been a marvel! Thank you all for your faith in this story - I will not stop updating until I've concluded the finale of the story.**

**Keep reading! :)**


	14. Sin

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: **_**Sin**_

The play was a certain phenomenon. I could not condense the teeming ecstasy simply into Success. Success was a mere understatement to the outcome. My hard work. My life. My ending. It wouldn't be so harsh anymore. If there was no possible miracle to save my inevitable doom, then this must be the Praised Lord's response to my prayers.

I could not elucidate the absolute sentiments the audience felt, but it was certain that their elation and touched hearts were tangible. Perhaps it was because _I_, the creator of the play's daughter, was in the cast, but everyone would, at least, have a notion that this play was more than some other recurring one and it had to mean something to Dad and me. People smiled, people laughed, and some even cried at the right times. Such an evocative moment – eternity could not compare to such welling intensity of my happiness. It felt like there was no one in any edge of the universe would _ever_ understand such intensity of emotions. At the end of the play, I even shed a few drops of tears – in pure bliss.

I saw Dad's glistening and saturated face among the mob. On the stage, I occasionally glimpsed at him, who returned the stare with a countenance that alleviated the guilt for my imminent and indispensable abandonment of him.

To be perfectly honest, my heart was swollen with pride at the success of the play. I could tell that the entire cast was equally proud and delightful after the play, especially Ms. Garber, but none of them shared my intensity. To me, it was more than a dream came true. Even on my deathbed, I would already be at ease.

When the play was over, many people dropped by to congratulate me before leaving. Even people from school whom acted in all my life as if they didn't know me. Some girls even opened their arms for me to hug them. I merely took a minimal step forward with a smile to conceal my surprise and aversion and patted their back with both my arms, keeping a comfortable distance between our bosoms. People who came by looked at me in an astonished yet impressed way, as if I had become a celebrity overnight – something that I was absolutely not used to. Perhaps it was my outstanding and convincing performance on stage that surpassed beyond their lowly expectations. But whatever the glances implied, I knew it could not be as sadistic as those I had received at the trough of my schooling life.

I quickly dismissed myself from the awkwardly massive load of congratulations and walked towards Dad. He had been crying, as I had seen from the stage, but they were tears of blissfulness, like those dried ones on my cheeks. His wet eyes stimulated my tear gland, and for the first time in public, I allowed the drops to cascade. I leaned into Dad's frail arms. We both knew that we had achieved our special dream on that very special night.

Dad let go of me and proudly motioned me to meet the rest of the cast. I did, though my primary purpose was to look for Landon. I scanned through the crowd, accepting people's sincere congratulations simultaneously, and finally found caught his stare from a corner. I made a move towards him.

I took a deep breath, wiping the saturation on my cheeks. I sniffed at looked at him squarely in his eyes, forcing myself to not recoil. "Thank you, Landon, for what you did," I smiled at him. "You made my father very happy."

"You're welcome," he smiled back. On an impulse, I wanted to step up to hug him tight and never letting go, permitting his warmth to thoroughly douse me, but I was distinctly aware that after that night, Landon and I would have no affiliation anymore. I did not want to have a tedious memory to hang on to desperately.

That night, I decided to reward myself with a bath. A steamy hot one. I had always done it in the past years when I had to assuage my stress. Through the steam, I could calm my nerves effectively. However, this time, I would do it for another purpose: to sort out my life.

The rising steam, instead of clouding my thoughts, stimulated my muses. It placed me in a light trance, and I fell deep into contemplations.

The success of the play had realized one of my greatest wishes. I knew that Daddy would not suffer so much anymore, and I probably would not too, but that play would not be enough for him. I owed him for life, for eternity. My debt was such that I could not ever clear within perpetuity. He would still be tormented; he would still be alone in life. And I, I would soon be up in Heaven, hopefully, looking down upon him powerlessly. And perhaps, I would see Landon baffled, perplexed, as someone whom he had once known was suddenly gone.

Or probably he would not bother. Why, I would have nothing to do with him anymore after the clock struck midnight. Like Cinderella, I'd known him for the night, seen his true colors with all veneers cast away, and through all those, times had to end. But there was still always a part of me that longed to be with him. He had instilled a thing into me that I could not discern. I worried for him, his future and his family. All the past conversations we had this year so far exceeded those that we ever had before. I was always thankful to the Lord to let me know him before I would leave, but I found that as I understood him more deeply, I wanted to be with him more frequently. He was like my personal magnet, my personal Heaven in the infernal living realm. I could not stop thinking about him, despite the desolation he made me feel.

Regrettably, such feeling was not mutual.

On another thought, if I knew so much about Landon, then shouldn't it only be fair that he knew the truth about me? The truth was, I was terrified. I feared Death, I feared the Unknown. I would not know what would happen to me after I leave, I would not know how much anguish I would have to go through before death would finally deprive me of the living. I did not know what awaited after life. I would not know how much I would cause Dad to suffer. I would not know all these, and therefore I feared them. And if I could not conquer these fears, how could I allow Landon to face them with me?

I submerged my face into the boiling water. I could feel the burn, but the tingling pain was nothing compared to the chemotherapies I had survived through. They were excruciating, they were beyond living endurance. I had never allowed Daddy to accompany me to such visits, because my face would be contorted with anguish such that I'd foolishly give in to a fatal relief, and that would only scare Daddy.

I took a deep breath and sank into the waters. My lungs fought ferociously for air a few moments afterward, but I grabbed the sides of the tub in a firm and unbreakable grip. I willed my body to remain still. I felt an urgent need to feel what it was like to be near death, so that I could prepare myself for the future. It was insanity. But on the other hand, when was the world ever sane? My lungs stung and burned. It felt like it was about to explode, to blast off from lack of oxygen. It constricted, my nose almost flooded with water on an impulse to breathe whatever substance was on the outside. I felt lightheaded, faint, and nauseous. My chest swelled and charred and contracted tightly and hurtfully. My pulse rose fervently. My fists tightened. Was this the terror of death? Would this pain be nothing compared to what I would feel soon? Was this –

Through the waters, I vaguely heard a familiar, anxious, distorted cry. "Jamie? Jamie? Jamie! Where are you? Jamie!"

I plunged myself above the waters. My lungs felt animated once again. The pain eased slightly but lingered. I had to press my fist against my chest in order to take a full, painless breath to reply, "Dad, I'm here!" I heaved, panted, relieving myself with the freshness and happiness to access with air.

"Jamie! What are you doing in the bathroom for a long time?"

Oops. "I forgot to say, Dad. I was taking a hot bath." My lungs ached, though the pain was greatly reduced. My lungs thanked me with renewed vigor, my throat cried in gratefulness as if they had forgotten that it was me who willed their suffering.

"Thank goodness nothing happened. Please, don't scare me again, Jamie."

"I won't, Daddy."

Immediately, I felt a pang of guilt. I should not have tried to feel the pain of death. It was foolish, recklessly foolish. What if Daddy had not called for me? Would I have drowned unknowingly? What would _happen_ to Daddy? I would only induce misery to him quickly – even with everlasting regret and disappointment that I invited my early departure. I was so foolish - stupid, selfish sin!

A sin.

_Oh Lord, I'm so sorry. I beg your merciful forgiveness – my life lies in your hand, in your path you've created for me that I shall conform. I promise, amen._

I slipped into my nightgown. I promised to God, to myself, to Daddy, and to Landon that I would never even _think_ of doing such a recklessly foolish thing ever again. I'd never be able to face myself for that right now.

* * *

**Author's Note: Double delights! Two chapter updates on the same day! Hope that make up to y'all for my long absence in updating.**

**Now, I deem it required to caution everyone here: Please do not attempt to do what Jamie just tried. The bathtub scene is not part of Nicholas Spark's _A Walk To Remember_ and perhaps he does not allude to this scene in his novel. But I've added it to show that everyone, including the pure and sweet Jamie, succumbs to angsts in life sometimes. However, may I stress this point: Jamie can and has shown her strength to suppress such weakness in her so no one should try what she just tried. What-so-ever, she realized her mistake in her foolishness.**

**Keep reading and if you have time, dear readers, please review! I really, really do hope to hear constructive criticisms from y'all!**


	15. Favor

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN:**_** Favor**_

The first schooling day after the Christmas play, everyone was treating me chivalrously. People greeted me pleasantly instead of giving me the death stares or the worse ignorance I was used to. Even Eric walked forward to congratulate me, and I did not bother to ascertain if Landon felt ashamed for his friend's gesture. Even Landon did not treat me like a walking glass. Or maybe he did. Anyway I was too occupied with my ruminations and the pleasantries to meet him incidentally or purposefully. Nevertheless, I knew these pleasantries would not last long like a celebrity's fame that would not last a lifetime.

In spite of my sudden reputation, my lunch nightmare did not die away. I sat in solitude reading my Bible earnestly, especially after the thwarting event in the bath. I could sense that Landon was several tables back, laughing with his friends. Occasionally, I could faintly discern his voice from the clamor – that deeply seductive voice.

During drama class, I did not spare Ms. Garber any of my attention. I was engaged in my world brainstorming about ideas of I could do for Christmas at the orphanage. I had placed jars in restaurants and shops to collect donations for the orphans. My plan was to gather all the funds at night and spend the accumulations on presents for the kids. However, the plan posed its difficulty since it would take me forever to collect the jars from places all over Beaufort. Well, unless –

"Jamie?"

I quickly looked up, apparently baffled and lost at touch with reality.

"Jamie, what is the next play we are about to focus on in class?"

Looking around in a messed perspective of class, I skimmed at the students staring at me, at Ms. Garber blankly, and caught the big title on the board.

"Romeo and Juliet, miss."

Incensed by my meander in thoughts yet her inability to reprimand me for a just cause, she snapped, "You shall not be given a second warning."

Ms. Garber was never harsh to me, but perhaps it was because I always listened in class except today – or by chance, she was in a sullen mood today. But nonetheless, I focused at her teachings _and_ continued my contemplations.

After class, I shuffled around with my stuff, fiddling around, packing and unpacking then packing again. Apart from me, Landon and another girl was in class. I took a few steps forward to him, huffed up all my courage, but succumbing again by turning away. I had executed this gesture a few times until I felt awkward and the other girl was staring at my queer actions and stepped out of class. Landon looked at me while I was walking his direction, smiled at me, and swung his way out the door when I quickly ran to stop him instinctively.

"Landon!" I called.

He turned. "Hey, Jamie. What's up?"

He was staring at me, expecting something, so I had to tediously force out the words. I did not face him and refused to look into his eyes. His eyes, I found, were highly addictive.

"Jamie?"

By accident, I looked into his eyes.

I could feel a puff of breath choking the words back into my mouth, but I did not have to fight it hard, because once Landon faced me, I was already breathless.

I had forgotten words.

I tried to retain my composure and briefly asked him if he could walk me back home. The words flowed so smoothly that I highly doubted if I was in control of my body. The memory of the previous time we walked together probably resurfaced in my mind and in his too, because I saw that surprised expression on his face – as if he expected that I would never ask for that favor from him again.

Of course, he agreed, giving me a relief to my sudden inexplicable yet innate request.

A moment later, I decided not to beat around the bush.

"Do you remember those things you said on our last walk home?" I asked, referring to the time he said in which he would make it all up to me.

He flinched slightly and lapsed into silence in consent.

"Well, I've been thinking about what you could do," I continued before he could reply, "and this is what I've come up with."

I told him about my plan and asked if he would not mind to help me collect those jars. He had a car, which would be much efficient than walking to adjacent streets for collection.

He winced once, barely within visibility of the scope of average people, but I was paying full attention to every minute detail of his reaction. And that was the reaction that I took most fright in.

"You don't have to do it," I said plainly. "I was just thinking that since Christmas is coming up so quickly and I don't have a car, it'll simply take me too long to collect them all…"

"No," he interjected, "I'll do it. I don't have much to do anyway."

Even though I could not understand his underlying motivation to do it, but I smiled at him broadly, and he returned my smile.

With Landon, the collection of money was swift. During the previous years, it was Daddy who would drive me around the town, but this year, I could not ask any more help from him. He had done enough for me already. More than enough.

I was thankful that Dad did not oppose against Landon helping me with the jars. Instead, he seemed impressed with the boy. Ever since the Christmas play was over, Dad did not criticize Landon as much as before, though I could hear a slight dislike in his tone. But at least, he did not condemn Landon audibly.

Landon was certainly not worthy of Dad's criticisms and loath. He was a rather reliable person who fulfilled his promise and collected the jars for me everyday. He had called to ease my doubts that he _had_ completed his job, but he was reluctant to tally up the money. Instead, he promised to come by in the afternoon four days before Christmas to deliver the money to me.

I could barely rest my nerves until that day arrived.

We counted a total of $247.35. I could barely believe my eyes. I counted the pennies lying on the floor over and over again, checking for arithmetic errors.

"Landon!" I cried to him while he leaned over the couch watching me count, "this is a miracle!"

"How much is there?" he asked, curiosity was absent from his voice.

"There is almost two hundred and forty seven dollars here!" I shrieked, reporting the news to him and Dad in the dining room, unable to contain my joy.

Dad turned towards me and smiled, apparently happy for me.

Tears of joy fell down my cheeks as I stared at the coins laid in front of me. I looked back at Landon, "It's…wonderful, Landon. Last year, I only collected seventy dollars." I, certainly, had not dared to place my hopes high this year.

Landon smiled back at me, "I'm glad it worked out better this year. If you hadn't placed those jars out so early in the year, you might not have collected nearly as much."

And for the rest of the afternoon, I allowed my gaze to rest on Landon while he busied himself with the funds, savoring the special moment.

* * *

**Author's Note: A budding love in progress! While writing this story in Jamie's perspective, I really begin to get into perspective of the manifestations of Jamie and Landon, and I must say, it is really insightful. Such congruent perspectives and thoughts of Landon and Jamie - with Jamie's unknown to Spark's novel - is certainly a work of a literary genius. And this book itself is truly a marvel while everything falls into pieces perfectly.**

**The subsequent chapter is my favorite of all - while I editted it, I just realized how profound it was. It will be uploaded soon, after you guys are done relishing this chapter! :)**


	16. Deep Talk

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: **_**Deep Talk**_

Through my umpteen pleadings, Landon still refused to purchase the toys for the orphans with me. His excuse was that I understood the kids much better than he did, so I should do the shopping. However, in return, he agreed to visit the orphanage with me on Christmas. "Oh, _Landon_, thank you so much," I had told him, "the kids would be _so_ happy with you there." And I genuinely meant it.

Hence, for the next three days, my Christmas shopping commenced after school. The budget was still rather tight, despite the drastic increase in annual funds, and I had to find the _perfect_, flawless present for each kid. An ephemeral epiphany struck me during the festive search – perhaps Landon, being affluent in assets and charity, might have placed extra financial support from his own pockets because the actual quantity was too petite, too inferior to be tallied. However, I dismissed the passing occurrence – it was out of munificence and he would perhaps be embarrassed when exposed of such generous deed. Thereby, I redirected my efforts to the hunt. To be honestly harsh with myself, no special ideas had conceived in my mind to make this final Christmas an extravaganza for both the kids and me. And this was what troubled me very much.

My only solace was that Landon did not treat me like a living glass in school anymore. He would walk up to say "hello" when his friends were away. However, when he was back with his gang, he still would not speak a word to me, but at least, I would receive a brief but cordial smile from him, and that was more than I had hoped for already.

Life was improving without Landon breaking my heart. Instead, I found myself growing closer to him cynically, when I thought our affiliation had concluded a week ago. It was definitely in the Lord's plan for me, and I would conform to it.

It seemed like fortunes do not arrive solely. Daddy's spirits were uplifted greatly recently, especially in the festive mood. I was being more optimistic too. I would try not to allow my illness encumber my happiness. That did not mean, nonetheless, that I would not shed a few tears in the dark.

Even though I tried not to _think_ about my terminal sickness, I was still distinctively aware about my incoming and inevitable departure. The Christmas play was the event that I had fought viciously in order to prolong my time. However, my strength was limited, and time ebbed my immunity away.

I had to do something while I was still cognizant, sober.

That was why, when I realized that I had forgotten to buy Landon a Christmas present, I resolved to confer my Bible to him.

I sought my Dad's permission to do so – the portion of the bestowment I deemed to be tougher than parting with the sacred Book itself. Having that Dad's usual speechless death stare, I was utterly stunned to wordlessness when his stare conveyed mere puzzlement instead of emotions of betray and wrath. His answer was a sigh.

Trying to register his astounding response, I was so delightful that I squealed. Of course, I only felt responsible to reason my decision with Dad. Besides, the Bible partly belonged to _him_ as well. I could not ascertain how convinced Daddy was to the elucidation of my heart's desire, but to me, I had essentially won over my denial to my true feelings for Landon.

Landon was not just _any_ other boy. Over these months, or weeks, he became more than a boy, more than a classmate, and more than someone special. I could not plainly determine the position he had assumed in my heart, but I knew he was definitely of certain significance that no one else ever was.

And, of course, my true intention to give Landon the Bible was because I did not want Daddy to have it.

Apparently, Dad was not and would never be aware of this concealed purpose. Maybe he had settled with the secondary intention of my decision, but nevertheless, I was grateful that of all the confusion of his emotions, doubt and suspicion were not part of the muddle.

On the day to the orphanage, Dad had agreed to drive me to my visit. He judged that I should not be loaded with the burden of the plentiful gifts, ranging diversely in size and weight. When I casually informed him of Landon's attendance, he was flabbergasted and made a succinct but relevant comment about the "changed child."

So with the presents loaded up at the back of the car and with the wrapped Bible in my tightly-gripped palms, Dad sat next to me, his eyes focusing intently on the roads unfolding before him. I couched back, recollecting the snaps of memory of the previous Christmases. Such evocative jubilance were irresistible; I smiled at myself and chuckled lightly, almost silently.

"What's so funny, Jamie?" Dad glanced at me curiously, "Thinking about Landon?"

_Landon?_ "Not really, Dad. I was recalling about the past Christmases."

"Yes, yes. They were certainly memorable."

"Dad," I hesitated. "May I ask: why did you even allow me to give Landon my Bible? I thought you despised him."

Dad sighed and inhaled deeply, apparently preparing for a lengthy speech. "Jamie, age is wearing me off. I cannot keep my hatred towards the Carters with me all the time. Let's not talk about my physical health; even my mental health is wearing me down now." He stopped, cautious on his diction. "Well, I'm not young as I was before, Jamie. When you are young, you assume you can handle almost anything…robust love, dreadful heartbreak, anguishing hate… But as time passes, you'll start to view the world from a fresh perspective. You'll find that love is just an emotion. Though it isn't as intense as it was back then, but it never ceases as long as it is true. You'll also realize that heartbreaks don't last. But what I've learned most, Jamie, was that hate torments me more than it does to the opposing party." He paused, taking a swift gander at me. "Do you understand?"

I nodded, but then shook my head. "Not really. I've never hated someone before."

Dad nodded in understanding. "That's good, really. Because through bitterness I've learned that hate makes you feel more infuriated every time you think of it. And, the person would certainly be unaware of your infuriation. Eventually, you suffer under your hate to others, while the others live without anguish. Hate, Jamie, encumbers tranquility.

"Therefore, Jamie, I've placed down my hate towards the Carters. I can't expect them to abandon all their filthy fortune. Once they've become accustomed to luxury, it would be impossible to expect them to revert back to a pauper's privations."

It was a long, philosophical bunch of sentences, but I understood them all. Though I could not empathize with Dad's emotions, but it was comforting to know that Dad had let bygones be bygones. I wanted to hug him, as a comfort for both him and me, but he was driving. Instead, I shot him a question that I was extremely curious about.

"Dad, what is love?"

He turned to me, letting his eyes linger upon me for a second longer than before. Within that split second, I could identify the tumultuous emotions running across his face. Surprise, curiosity, deliberation, distress; all these emotions were chronological.

"Love, Jamie, is the way I feel for you…and your mother. But these two kinds of love are different, in their own special form."

He stopped, but I kept silent to urge him to continue.

"As I had said, love is only a feeling, but if it is true enough, it lasts perpetually. I love your mother for who she really is – not only her strengths but her flaws as well. I love the imperfect her perfectly. And for you, I love you as much as I love her. You are the remains of her and a part of me. Don't get me wrong, Jamie. I love you as who you truly are too. But it is a different kind of feeling. I have my responsibility to you, and it is the love that sustains my responsibility. It's my _job_ as a father to protect you, to care for you, and to love you. Do you understand?"

Honestly, I did not. But all I knew was that he _did_ love me and my mother. And I loved him too. And love was the hardest thing to lose grip of in life. Before I could form a coherent reply, however, Dad interjected, "How do you feel about Landon, Jamie?"

It caught me unsuspectingly. It had never occurred to me that the conversation would head in this direction – Landon and me. I gaped at Dad, because I was not even sure of how _I_ felt towards _Landon_.

"You see him as your everything, or slightly close to it, don't you?" Dad questioned, in an answer to his own interrogation. "You see him as a guardian angel, as someone who looks out for you and will be there for you, maybe not bodily but spiritually, don't you? You see him as someone perfect, someone good-natured. You are blind to his flaws, though you know that they exist, but you can't be bothered about them, don't you?" He looked at me, and I stared back at him, stupefied. "But you just don't realize that, do you?"

How could I answer such questions? They shot me unaware like arrows from the back. I was too busy to collect my scattered and wild thoughts, too dazed to compose myself.

How did Dad ever know? How _could_ he know? Oh, he did not know about how Landon had broke my heart that night before the play. How could I –

"I've watched you, Jamie. These days. You've spent your time with him, and it isn't much of your disposition to hang out with someone so frequently like this. I've watched you when you say your goodbye to him in the doorway every night. You watch his car disappear before turning. The lost expression in your eyes when you walk in the door alone is one that I had never forgotten. It was the same expression your mom had when she was still alive, when I had to leave for work. And why would you give Landon your dearest Bible if he isn't a part of you now? Yesterday, I witnessed your behavior when he was around in the house. I'd never seen such a truly cheerful Jamie in ages. Though you smile to me everyday, Jamie, but I know, I know. Those smiles never reach your eyes. But yesterday, you were your true, blissful self.

"You're in love, Jamie. I had been through that phase before. Those behavior you have, they were what I had undergone before too – though not the same, but somewhat similar."

I gawked at the undulating roads, unable to fathom that Daddy's words contained traces of truth in them.

* * *

**Author's Note: And so, the girl begins falling in love with Prince Charming.**

**This chapter is so insightful and true-to-the-novel's-essence that I cannot wait but upload it very quickly. I truly hope you all have a great ride through this chapter and review when you may! (Insight: Often, my time length of update is inversely corresponding to the number of reviews received. As I've mentioned, I see it no secret to say that reviews keep me working on this piece of work in entirety.)**

**Enjoy! :)**


	17. Moments

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: **_**Moments**_

In spite of Dad's slow driving with his insightful talk that left me more perplexed and discombobulated than ever before, I arrived at the orphanage before Landon did. Heading to the recreation room to await Landon's majestic appearance, I was still unable to suppress the reservations I had upon his coming. Those thoughts were needless, I tried to believe, yet there was still always this chance, no matter how slim it could be, that Landon would betray our promise and slash down my hoisted hopes.

These racing thoughts of doubts were perplexing, with the disarray of emotions toiling tumultuously within me. The guilt of doubt, the preemption of disillusionment, the defense against misery, the question of life, the bafflement of love… What more could fulfill the mystifying mission as such cacophony of sentiments thumped in the chaos of my mind?

However, my path of pessimism instantly replaced with innocent screams and naïve festivity. The kids dashed out of the recreation room upon seeing my figure through the passing windows, and like a sea of elves, they lapsed over me and drowned me with their cynically bear-like hugs. Those fleeting, pessimistic thoughts sailed away as if repelled by a thunderstorm for the time being.

The merry children pushed me to play with them. We made gift cards, decorated the Christmas tree, and invented new games to play for the night. Occasionally, I would glance at the door and send a wordless communication to Mr. Jenkins, questioning him about Landon's arrival. He would shrug, thus prolonging my skepticism. Returning my attention to the kids, I managed to allay their uplifted vigor and exchanged their serenity for their most-anticipated story time.

And it was when I was on my third story, "'Twas the Night Before Christmas," when Landon finally arrived. All I felt at the moment was pure relief. He had come, he hadn't forgotten about our appointment, and with that, I could invest more efforts into dramatizing the stories like a bird released into the boundless freedom of the skies.

After their third and final story, the kids stretched themselves after long moments of restful sitting and flickered around for a new entertainment. I paced my way toward Landon, noticing his glamorous outfit – a soft brown pullover with a white collared shirt underneath. The shade of brown corresponded perfectly with his tanned skin and accentuated his hazel eyes. His hair was smoothed neatly, his countenance peaceful and slightly cheeky. I stared at him in awe. His features were flawless, and they made me feel inferiorly imperfect standing in front of him.

"I'm sorry we started without you," I apologized, "but the kids were just so excited."

"It's okay," he smiled.

"I'm so glad you could come."

"So am I."

I reached for his hand as a physical gesture of my gratitude, and instantly, his warmth surged through me. I had forgotten how comforting his large, warm hand. All my doubts and apprehension I had previously dwelled upon seemed foolish in its entirety. "Come with me," I whispered, leaning in closer to Landon. "Help me hand out the gifts. I had saved them till the time you arrive."

Before reluctantly parting our held hands, I tugged Landon's finger lightly before walking to the Christmas tree. Sharing the children's vigor and joy with him, we distributed the gifts, which took a pleasantly long time. One by one, the curious and impatient children voraciously tore their presents open, revealing their most desired entity, their eyes glittering in delight. Some of them even took to the extent to offer an extended hug to Landon and me before we proceeded to the next eager kid who could rarely plead for his (or her) present. Such warmth and enthusiasm were so comforting that I felt as if there was no inexplicable problem for the moment.

Screams and shares of presents were audible that the festivity in the atmosphere was plainly tangible. The room glowed under the iridescent and vibrant lightings. I laughed with the kids, I hugged them, while some of them even offered me _their _presents. Roger, for one, was so excited about his toy robot that he had been pestering Mr. Jenkins to buy, such that he tossed the toy around with his friends so vigorously until an arm broke. Nevertheless, such minute accident could not dampen his spirits; instead, he took it to me and offered me the arm. I chuckled and promised him another new robot for the New Year. Even Leslie, the quiet nine-years-old girl, came forward to share her new gigantic Hello Kitty soft toy with me and other younger kids. Indeed, it was a season of sharing and caring.

In addition, Landon would occasionally drop by and have a little chat with me. Together, we would play with the kids, such as fixing the DIY airplanes and naval ships, which Landon had thoroughly surprised me with his talent at the constructions. "I was a young boy before," he laughed after I expressed by delight and interest in his hidden flair.

However, when it came to dolls, he would stroll away and mess around with the other younger boys who shared a mutual interest with him. Though he faked his interest to the dressings of the dolls, I could tell he could not comprehend how such inanimate imitation of humanity could hold such pleasure for people. And when he yawned at Lily's incessant chatters on the Barbie outfits for the third time, I walked over and tapped him on the shoulder, denoting that I'd manage with Lily's dolls.

Landon, after that, found most gusto in the army playsets that Robin, an eight-years-old, had received. With their newly found group, Landon led and commanded an imaginary war. He would explain the battle tactics, the military formation, and the valor that the soldiers possessed in warfare. Making up sound effects with the eager aid of other young boys, the cacophonous group was entirely absorbed in their credible warfare in the recreation room. _Ironic_, I rolled my eyes and chuckled.

By the end of the evening, the jocundity in the atmosphere began to cool. The younger and more raucous kids, ranging ages 6 and below, had fallen into their hushed trances, while the older ones busied themselves with the leftover toys from their juniors. The crowd in the rec room had split into two distinctive groups: the masculine and the feminine. The boys gathered around Landon's group, laughing at his erudition on warfare. Neither Landon nor the boys had grown tired on the army set yet. In fact, the playset had grown to include tanks, toy guns, and more pieces of infantry ranging diversely in sizes. The group had even extended their toy play into a game of charade with Landon gently "battling" against some elder boys. The girls, on the other hand, occupied themselves with their own toys: the dolls, kitchen playset, DIY jewelries, and teddy bears.

The children's preoccupations left Mr. Jenkins and I free to clear up the mess. Frankly, neither did I expect nor noticed the hectic mess that a massive Christmas gathering could cause. In different spots of the room, there were spilt juices, water, and milk, creating a mingle of unrecognizable liquid on the ground. Food was toppled and mixed callously, causing them inedible. On the carpet floor of the reading corner, a reeking smell was inescapable: there was soil, whose origin was still a nebulous mystery, shreds of viciously ripped wrapping paper, flakes of plastic and foil, all ruined with littered food bones and slush of murky fluid. I foresaw the nightmare involved in clearing the mess, yet it symbolized the mirth of the day.

While Mr. Jenkins and I labored ourselves with the cleaning job, the excitement in the room started to die down. By the time we were done with majority of the clean-up, Landon had already soothed his kids to tranquility, though some of them were yet asleep. As the night drove deeper, his play-group began to scatter, and the room was vacant of wild dynamism that it had a few hours back. Beyond the silence, the tranquil faces of the children radiated pure naivety and innocence. At this sight, it was incredulous to believe that these kids were actually orphaned - they seemed just like any other kids with a happy family. In fact, in my entire life, one insightful lesson I learned was that nothing seemed anything close to its superficiality. Take me for instance. No one could have known that a youthful and merry girl I appeared to be was undergoing massive anguish - anguish of pain, of loss, of imminent inevitability of death. Even Landon, looking ever-so-charming in front of me, would not have guessed that he was such a significant and adequate piece of a dying patient.

Meanwhile, Landon stood up from his group and walked towards me. My sight followed his steps until they halted an inch in front of me. I lightly heaved Lily's leg closer to me while her body laid cradled in my arms.

"Hey," Landon whispered in such a soft hiss that it was almost inaudible with the soft background music. Yet I could feel his breath sliding all the way to caress my cheek. I smiled at him, lightly stroking his arm to return my amiable greeting speechlessly.

While we sat in silence, Mr. Jenkins was busy ushering and leading the children to their bedrooms, starting with the younger ones. He had refused Landon's and my offer to help, deeming that he owed us to such a wonderful evening. However, he seemed to have a difficult time getting the kids back to their rooms, such that he summoned a few matured and awake kids to help him. Several of those dozing children were delightfully stuck in their dreamland such that they were still fast-asleep despite Mr. Jenkins's rousing calls. I laughed lightly at the obstinacy that sleep had imposed on the children, landing my gaze upon Landon. He was smiling at me with a stare to intense that I instinctively felt too self-conscious and looked away. I tried to refocus my attention on something else in the room - anything within sight - but the passion beaming from Landon's gaze was too palpable to ignore. Instead, in resignation, I returned his look, trying to suppress the overwhelming pleasure in our intense and fervent conversation with too much energy and electricity conducting between us. Such privacy was rare, especially with our limited togetherness in school - and with Landon's friends always on the watch. I waited for Landon to look away first, but slowly I began to recognize our mutual reluctance to break this bliss, our thoughts in synchronized concordance.

Finally dissolving the intensity, Landon turned away for the briefest second before looking back at me, an expression somewhat tight. He whispered as low as he could, wary of breaking the silence too conspicuously. "I bought you something."

I raised my brows.

"A gift, I mean."

I faced him directly in the eyes. "You didn't have to do that." I smiled softly, but in fact, I was glad that he did.

"I know. But I wanted to," he shrugged, trying to make his affection seem aloof.

He stretched out and reached for the gift in the corner, his shirt lifted slightly to reveal a brief flash of tanned skin. His present for me was a bag of…something. I raised my hand politely to receive it as if it was a endowment from a prince – Prince Charming.

As I pulled my hands away from Lily's tight cuddle, she stirred slightly in her sleep and groaned. I froze.

I whispered as quietly as I could, my voice diluted enough to blend in the pitch silence. "Could you open it for me? My hands are kind of full right now."

Landon shrugged, feeling awkward. "You don't have to open it now, if you'd rather not. It's not really a big deal."

"Don't be silly," I laughed, though slightly restrained, "I would only open it in front of you."

He opened the gift gently, unraveling his token of amiability. He avoided tearing the wrapper in fear of awaking the children and pulled the tape off quietly instead. He was a rather gentle man, to put it simply, and I must admit that it was nice to see this facet of his multi-personality.

He opened a box inside the bag and fished out a sweater. He unfolded and held it up. It was brown, an identical shade of brown to his sweater that night. At first sight, I already loved it.

"See, that's all. I told you it wasn't much." He commented casually.

"It's…beautiful, Landon," my voice trembled slightly. "I'll wear it the next time I see you. Thank you."

Silence relapsed. I did not know how to tell him about such a precious present for him, afraid that he might not deem it appropriate for him to accept and thereby refuse my gift.

I took a deep breath and let the words flow by their accord. "I brought you something too." I whispered. I directed my gaze beneath the Christmas tree, and he followed my direction of sight. Reaching out, he took it on my behalf.

"Open it," I said, staring straight into his eyes, determined not to miss any emotion that flickered in his eyes, even for an infinitesimal second.

His fingers ran across the gift, feeling the texture of the unknown item beneath the wrappings. Without looking up, it seemed as if he received a telepathic message from me when he said, "You can't give this to me."

How did he know what was inside?

Was it that obvious?

"Please," I pleaded, "Open it. I want you to have it." My eyes focused on his facial expression, or at least, the parts that faced me.

He slowly unwrapped the gift meticulously, treating it with great caution. He stared at the present for a moment of what seemed like forever while I impatiently waited for an explicable response, be it verbal or emotional, from him. When he finally looked up, within his eyes, emotions conflicted, engaged in such an intense battle that I could not isolate a single one from the tumult. He gawked at me, then at the Bible, then at me again, trying to ascertain his sight, trying hard to deem my action rational. He gently brushed the tip of his fingers across the cover of the Book with care. I pulled my hand out of Lily's grasp and enveloped Landon's warm palm. His eyes fixed on me, welled with tears on their brims.

"Thank you for doing what you did," I whispered to him, leaning closer with every syllable. "It was the best Christmas I've ever had."

I wanted him to feel the candor in my voice, the care in my heart, the love in my soul. That night was certainly the most memorable Christmas I ever had and would ever have. I would not live to experience the next Christmas with Landon anymore, but this Christmas was enough for me. Enough for forever.

Landon faced the ceiling then returned my gaze. He reached out for the cup of punch at the far side but pulled his arm back. Tears in his eyes welled up more, and I could identify the ongoing struggle with his inclination to cry in front of me, but his pride triumphed as the tears did not betray him. Nevertheless, it was my initial experience with a boy on the verge of crying with so much emotions in his eyes. Not Daddy, not anyone else, but him, Landon.

Suddenly, his breathing stilled. As he looked at me intently, I sensed a message from his expression that I could not decode. I gazed back into his hazel brown eyes, recognizing those shades, those spiral patterns as if I had known them for my entire lifetime already, yet never being able to fathom their true depths. All I saw in those lukewarm pupils were the reflecting light, and vaguely, my dim image. I smiled at him, and innately, he smiled back at me - the happiest and most genuine smile I had ever received from him.

For that moment, all I could think of in Landon's eyes and with his palm curling up tightly around mine was that Daddy's words made sense: his questions raced through my mind; their answers laid blatantly in front of me in that overwhelming moment. Landon.

Landon.

Maybe I had fallen way too deep into love.

* * *

**Author's Note: This is _perhaps _the portion that you may look forward most in the story (as one of my marvelous reviewers mentioned) so I made it a point to edit this chapter quickly but thoroughly. :)**

**This month of July 2010 has been the highest number of hits ever since this story was published! It doubled that of the preceding month! (Although the number of reviews dropped, but I trust that more people read than those who reviews.) Hence, I try to post this chapter online really quickly as well, because you guys are my faithful and most awesome readers who just rock the world.**

**Look forward to more reviews! But what tops the importance of reviews is your enjoyment.**

**So as I always conclude my author's note: Enjoy!**

**(And I truly mean that: ENJOY.) **


	18. Invitation

**Author's Note: Hello guys! I've changed and added more details to the previous chapter (Chapter 16, _Moments_), so if you guys can spare the time, it'd be nice to return to check out the edited portion. It's probably in the middle when Landon and Jamie were in the orphanage's recreation room. A big thank you once again!**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: **_**Invitation**_

During the entire drive home, Landon intermittently eyed me from the corner of his eyes stealthily. I caught him red-handedly in several occasions, because to be frank, my body would naturally curl to the shape of the car's door as I leaned on it, my gaze naturally landed upon him. I wondered what lay beneath his deep deliberation, yet never able to fathom even its superficiality. Occasionally when our eyes met, we shuffled to turn away quickly, embarrassed, before I would regain my subliminal pose to stare at him, fathoming futilely.

Landon _had_ received my gift. He had almost cried, but for what reasons? Was he touched? Was he overly apprehensive of my erratic decision? Did he suspect any motive, whether for my chronic illness or for my newly discovered infatuation for him? His responses were patent, yet they articulated no rational enlightenment or probable advancement in my understanding towards him. His thoughts were simply impenetrable, like the body's immune system molded and established to rigidity and stoic defense against invading pathogens trying to dig into the mind, body, or soul.

Yet beyond this cognitive guard he had someway carefully weaved across his every facet, his physical splendor on patent display before my eyes was undeniable. His tanned skin, as the streetlamps occasionally flashed in rapid motions, was, perhaps, not entirely perceptible during the spontaneous dimness of the night, but its radiance and passion – they were simply palpable. Our arms were, technically, inches apart. Landon's fingers were tightly grasped on the car gear as if frozen, yet there were sporadic spasms of energy remaining enough to cause stiff fidgets.

His splendid emergence never failed to leave me envious in awe, laden in inferiority, crushed in esteem. How did an impeccable boy, or man, as appropriate as my view portrayed of him, land in such recurrent acquaintance with me, a plain, dying Jane Doe? And most cynically, the plain Jane, who dreamt of rising to be his Cinderella yet could not live to do so, fell in love with Prince Charming.

This was a rueful reality that I could not flee from the constant chatters of my thoughts. _If_, in supposition and mere supposition, I had fallen in love, then it would certainly not be fair to Landon. I was dying, he was thriving. But on second thought, my feelings for him could only be summarized under one word: unrequited. Unrequited love. It was a tragic, tragic term for an infatuated person like me, yet in my personal dictionary, unrequited love only seemed to illuminate gratification. Pure relief.

If this was really love, then how more could I leave in regret? I was allowed by the all-encompassing and merciful Lord to understand the truest of all feelings that He had bestowed upon us, upon humans. He might have planned all these, planned my destiny to be intertwined with Landon's for the final chapter of my life.

"Landon," I croaked, beginning to voice my thoughts aloud, "Do you ever think about God?"

Perhaps astounded by the abrupt twist in a devout direction of the conversation, Landon paused before replying vaguely, "Sure. Sometimes, I reckon."

"Do you ever wonder why things have to turn out the way they do?"

He nodded, hesitant.

"I've been thinking about it a lot lately," I admitted.

He looked at me oddly, but chose to remain in his silence.

"I know the Lord has a plan for us all, but sometimes, I just don't understand what the message can be. Does that ever happen to you?"

He thought, his brows ceased, "Well, I don't think we're meant to understand it all the time. I think that sometimes we just have to have faith."

I thought through his answer, surprised at the slight innuendo of truth tainted in his words. Maybe he was right. Maybe I should just have faith. Maybe I should just go with the flow and allow the Lord's plan to take control of me. Maybe I should not even decipher why He was letting all these happen to me. Maybe there was a just cause. Maybe it could suffice all my sufferings in the past and future, perhaps.

Maybe I should just give Him faith to steer the course of my life.

"Yes," I said. "You're right."

He smiled, proud to dawn upon some realization on me, yet unknowing of the profound epiphany I had reached.

"You know," he said abruptly, "it sure was nice tonight when we were sitting by the tree earlier."

I was slightly astonished at the sharp distinction in subject, but I went well along with it.

"Yes, it was," I replied surreally as the memories of the night gushed in like a tidal wave, overlapping me to submerge completely.

"And you sure looked nice, too," he praised, pulling me back to the reality coast and causing the sharp rise in heat on my cheeks.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He stared intently upon the straight road ahead, biting his lips nervously, as if trying to choke something out.

Taking a deep breath, he blubbered quickly, "C-Can I ask you a question?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

He breathed in again, deep, refreshing, cool. "After church tomorrow, and, well… a-after you've spent some time with your father… I mean…" he stammered as I stared at him struggling to form coherent words. He took a gander at me, swift enough for his attention diverted from the road safely yet long enough to maximize his time on looking at me. "Would you mind coming over to my house for Christmas dinner?" he breathed.

I turned to face the window and smiled to myself. Was he really asking me?

"Yes, Landon, I would like that very much."

He sighed, as if he had held his breath all the time while I ruminated through his question. He shifted his free hand close to mine, and our fingertips were barely a centimeter apart. I could feel the slight palpitation of his hand when it enveloped mine, but as soon as our skin met, I cuddled my hand into his.

And for the rest of the trip, I contemplated on how my affiliation with Landon had developed so deeply when it was supposedly ending at the night of the Christmas play.

I had wished that the roads leading back home would be windingly incessant, but everything, good or bad, would meet an eventual end. When Landon finally pulled up at my front door and freed my hand, the gush of the callous wind seized upon my palm. I did not want him to release me, but I could sense Dad's intense awareness at our steadily growing relationship.

Landon, as usual, escorted me to the doorstep as he had on those nights we walked home from school together. Yet the atmosphere this time was somehow…different, like we were more acquainted with a mounting amount of camaraderie. He stopped, and before any speech, he gazed deeply into my eyes, and I could perceive the turbulent conflicts reflecting in his intense glare again. Before any chance for words to slip out past our lips was probable, the door flew open beside us. I turned, startled, and found Dad eyeing us, his sight sliding back and forth between us, and landing upon our _rather_ close proximity before looking at me.

"I heard you pull up," Dad explained. His eyeing was so intent that my mind instantly flew wild. Raving speculations about Dad's further confirmed suspicions ran feral in me.

"Hello, Reverend Sullivan," Landon greeted, a tone in his voice I failed to discern.

"Hi, Daddy," I collected myself. "I wish you could have come tonight. It was wonderful."

Dad smiled at me, "I'm so glad for you." He turned towards Landon, "I'll give you a bit to say good night. I'll leave the door open."

He turned, and sat on the couch, with his eyes apparently focused on us.

"I had a wonderful time tonight, Landon," I remarked briefly. I felt oddly uncomfortable with a pair of eyes on me. On _us_, especially after our very-much accustomed privacy in the orphanage.

"So did I," he replied succinctly.

"What time should I come over tomorrow?" I asked as Landon's invitation suddenly passed through my thoughts.

Landon's eyes slid behind me for a fleeting moment. Daddy. "I'll come over to get you. Is five o'clock okay?"

I looked over my shoulders and called out, "Daddy, would you mind if I visited Landon and his parents tomorrow?"

Dad gave his solemn look again, facing down, rubbing his temples, and sighing softly. "If it's important to you, you can."

I turned to Landon, my spirits merry all of a sudden. "What should I bring?"

"You don't need to bring anything. I'll pick you up at a quarter to five."

I nodded, and remained still for a moment. I fixed my gaze upon the ground.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I finally said.

"Okay."

"Thank you for driving me home, Landon."

With that, I allowed my eyes linger on his perfect features, trying to commit them to memory. Then I tore myself away and shut the door silently. From the side window, I watched Landon drive away and fade into the darkness.

"This is what I mean," Daddy interjected my thoughts. "Your lingering expression."

"Dad," I turned and replied reticently, "It's not the way you think it is."

"Have you given a thought to our conversation this afternoon?"

I chose to reply in silence.

He understood. "Well, Jamie. Look at me, girl, look at me. I'll be glad if your relationship with Landon isn't the way that _I_ think it is. But Jamie, love strikes at the most unexpected timing, and when it does, it is inevitable, uncontrollable. The sparks and euphoria between you and him are simply signs of an incoming one. But Jamie, come here. We know that this love cannot last long. You cannot place your hopes on this fragile love, honey. I'm worried for you, but I'm equally worried for Landon too. No one knows what will happen next. The Lord's plan is unknown to common mortals like us. But be prepared, Jamie. I don't mean that you should deny your feelings, because the more you do, the more intense it becomes. Accept them, appreciate them, but just don't bet your hopes on them too high."

Dad's revelation had caught me speechless. His words, mingling with the advices from the afternoon, replayed incessantly in my mind unceasingly. I merely whispered, "Goodnight, Dad," and clambered to my room. I slumped onto the bed, bouncing slightly. While I lay upon the soft cushions that quickly enveloped me into my personal world, I sorted the frustratingly perplexing emotions and counseling I received that day.

Maybe, perhaps _maybe_, it was possible for us. I had to place my bet despite knowing it might fail.

* * *

**Author's Note: It's the greatest comfort in the world to know that you guys, the MOST marvelous of all (yes, I certainly do reckon so!), are _actually_ reading my work! This writing, editing, adding to closer perfection (though full perfection is something out of reach for me) are extremely and tediously time-consuming. So thank you thank you thank you all SO MUCH to actually make me feel this effort is so worth it. We're here at chapter SEVENTEEN, a long way since the beginning of the story, though not anywhere near the end. So I MUST MUST thank you all so much (so unfathomably much) for tuning in and sticking to the story so faithfully. You guys are the besssssssssst!**

**Thank you and PLEASE ENJOY! :)**


	19. At the Carters'

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: **_**At the Carters'**_

Landon successfully fulfilled his promise and did not fail my anticipation when he showed up on the doorstep at quarter to five, sharp. It was a long wait for Dad and me before he arrived. I had begun preparation right after a quick lunch, but before that, I had spent all morning in bed thinking about Landon. Mainly, the ghost of the night still loomed over my mind. I had dreamt of Landon, the way he whispered into my ears, the close proximity I had fantasized, the soft echoes of his voice, "I'm sorry, Jamie." I didn't seem to speak at all, yet he could sense the wordless flashing curiosity in my mind, _for what?_ He leaned in closer, as if there were no more gaps between us, and suddenly, the scene flew back to the place where he first evinced his loathe towards me, under that tree, under the stars. We were standing, somewhat apart, but both our hands were clasped tightly in each others', and I, looking into his eyes, felt tumultuous emotions so strong I could remember them more vividly than any other hazy portions of this delusion. It was irrevocable affection, the sudden overwhelming and irresistible urge to caress his body, to hug him tight, to never let him go. And to let him have all of me. This rush of fondness was then usurped by guilt, aching guilt, evoked indefinitely by the knowledge that such affection was illegal. An illicit crime, the utmost felony of the century – to let him have all my love, to let him suck my love dry, and then to leave him hanging by a delicate thread of reminiscence. An unforgivable sin, one that was beyond the control of humanity – and yet, a feeble, pious human like me, having to evade a life of sin, is perilously on the brink of committing the most untenable one.

"Landon," I let go of his hand and pushed hard against his chest, "let me go. I cannot do this." And then I was instantly in my room enveloped in the dark, feeling nothing but loss. He was just, a moment ago, so close, and so suddenly, he was out of sight, out of reach.

And thus concluded my dream for all I could recall. It was insensible, as all dreams truly were, yet I could not stop dwelling on the scene. Was Landon really in the position to _know_ of my death that I had gone through the trouble to conceal so perfectly? Would he be better off without the knowledge of it, and just let me be a ghost, a fleeting ghost, of his heart? I could afford the pain of being an insignificant part of him, letting myself drift away from his mind into nothingness, as long as he could be spared of any grief, any loss. I would suddenly disappear from his life, let him resume his normal routine that never included me, and I would be essentially nonexistent. I would give _anything_ for that possibility, because he was too important to me now.

Perhaps I was too absorbed in that implausible reality, because when Dad called from the dining room for my lunch, reality caught me by surprise that I had a date to Landon's house tonight. Not an official date, but an offer valuable enough to be a date.

I had spent approximately thirty minutes to get a suitable outfit, twenty to tidy my hair, my appearance, another thirty to clear the piles of lying clothes on the bed and floor, and between every minute, Dad had to knock on my door to check on me. Sometimes, when I permitted, he would pop his head into my room to ensure that I was fine.

"Dad," I groaned. "I cannot get any better than I already am."

He shrugged, "Still. Look at how excited you are. I cannot help but worry when my dear Jamie is so _excited_ for a date at the Carters'."

"Dad!" I felt wholly discomfited. "It's not a date! It's just dinner!"

"Alright, I shalln't bother you." And he would leave, for a few moments before coming back again.

Finally I was all settled but it was merely two hours before Landon would arrive. Dad relocated his working area from his room to the dining area, on his personal mission to spy and to look over me. He would work, yet not entirely, because I could feel his stares no matter how intermittent.

"Dad, just say what's on your mind."

He looked up and blinked, feigning ignorance. "Excuse me?"

"There's something you want to say. You don't have to keep peeping at me to tell me something."

"Well," he scratched his head, "I wasn't _peeping_ at you. I was just – alright. I wanted to know how you would spend your Christmas with me if you're going to Landon's house tonight."

I laughed. That was all? "Daddy, were you _actually_ thinking that I would abandon you for Landon? I might, during summer," I joked, "but definitely not Christmas."

"But you'll be spending all night there. How are you going to – "

I quickly interjected, cutting out Dad's irrelevant worries. "I have the entire day tomorrow reserved for our Christmas. Besides, I've already gotten you a present. It was intended as a surprise for you, but to allay your worries, the surprise's spoiled." I smiled at him.

"Tomorrow's fine," Dad grinned, "But I have something going on in the morning, so let's make it tomorrow afternoon."

"Tomorrow afternoon, then," I raised my pinkie.

"Tomorrow afternoon." And we crossed our pinkies together.

Before I left home, Daddy's usual apprehensive and alert gaze followed me into Landon's car. Landon saluted to Dad after I entered the car as an act of reassurance and reverence.

The car ride was quiet. Landon would probe a few general questions at me, and I would ask all about his parents. Did they consent my presence for Christmas? Would I be intruding? Maybe I shouldn't go since it was your family's gathering. You'd told your parents that I was coming over, right? Are you sure I would not be interfering?

As we drew closer to Landon's home, those questions were the newly-formed products of my trepidation that constantly piled up like the augmenting amount of honey in a beehive. They were heavy, a troublesome load, yet, like the sweet nature of honey, they caused Landon to burst into laughter at my silliness, warming the atmosphere.

It wasn't a great commute to the Carters', especially by car. The house, though I had been there before, was a wonder. Its superior architecture amazed me in a fresh perspective. Instead of the heavenly feeling that I had formerly, this time, its elegance struck me more completely. I had not known, until Landon had revealed to me, that his house was priceless for its historical value. It used to be home to Richard Dobbs Spaight, a man who had signed the Constitution. The fine furniture, the cook and maid, the family living within, espeically, they all appealed to me. I could finally fathom with Daddy's harbored discontent towards the Carters' affluence – they really had such luxury.

Mrs. Carter, as always, affably hugged me and kissed me on my cheeks when I stepped into the house. Mr. Carter, a man who had always been away from home, greeted me formally – a light hug and a handshake with a few exchanged pleasantries. Dinner was fairly excellent. The food was not prepared by Mrs. Carter, unlike what I had anticipated, but by the hired cook. However, Landon's parents had occupied me with conversation and I busied myself with replying and constantly fuelling the talk that I barely had time to touch my food.

After dinner, Landon invited me for a walk in the winter chill. Puffs of white bubbles formed from our breaths. Their garden was blanketed in heavy snow, the foliage a bare sight, the naked branches a frozen white.

"Your parents are wonderful people," I casually remarked.

Landon shrugged. "They're nice, in their own way. My mom's especially sweet."

I stopped, taking a look around the house – its huge garden fashioned elegantly despite the snow, its refined architecture, its opulence. "Is it true about your grandfather? The stories that people tell?"

Hesitantly, Landon followed my gaze and whispered, "Yes."

"That's…sad. There's more to life than money." _For example, love, health…_

"I know."

I looked at him dubiously. "Do you?"

He looked away, across his frosty gate, into the secluded road where a cat had just dashed across.

"I know that what my grandfather did was wrong."

"But you don't want to give it back, do you?"

He squinted his eyes, thrown in bafflement, "I've never really thought about it, to tell you the truth."

"Would you, though?"

He remained silent, his brows fused into one. I kept my gaze at the rosebushes in front of me, anticipating his answer.

"Why do you do things like that?" he demanded abruptly, turning angrily towards me. "Making me feel guilty, I mean. I wasn't the one who did it. I just happened to be born into this family."

I reached for the branch in front of me and wiped the snow off its tip, internally wincing at his sudden wrath, trying to sustain my composure. "That doesn't mean you can't undo it, when you get the opportunity," I whispered. _Just like me - I undid my father's loath for you._

As if my thoughts were written across my face, Landon suddenly questioned, "Does your father like me?"

I paused, recalling the conversation I had with Daddy last night. "My father," I pronounced slowly, "worries about me."

"Don't all parents?"

I faced the crispy grass, then to the sole leaf hanging helplessly on the bare tree. "I think that with him, it's different from most. But my father does like you, and he knows that it makes me happy to see you. That's why he let me come over to your house for dinner tonight."

"I'm glad he did," Landon remarked, with confusion burning in his tone, but he did not demand for further explanation.

"So am I," I replied cheerfully and smiled at him.

Under the moonlight, his features that night were sharply accentuated. He was suave, handsome, irresistible. But resist I must.

I reluctantly tore my glance from him.

"My father worries about you, too, Landon."

"Why?" he demanded.

"For the same reason I do." I could not elaborate further, for it would reveal my deepest secret. We stood next to each other in the icy winter land, needing nothing else but each other.

Before Landon took me home after Christmas dinner, he had requested if it was alright to come by my house to visit every few moments and then. Of course, I agreed, but by the phrase, "every few moments and then," I did not interpret it as he would stop by the very next morning. And when he did, I was caught by utter surprise.

"Hello, Landon!" I sung out merrily.

"Hey, Jamie."

I motioned to the porch, hoping that he would not mind the porch instead of the inside. "My father's not home, but we can sit on the porch if you'd like…" And before I could end my sentence, I had no idea how, because it happened too quickly but Landon suddenly appeared in front of my eyes within a split second. I was breathless, forgotten how to breathe. My heart was a flutter, my stomach a twisting diver. It was as if when I opened my eyes after a swift blink, I could feel his cool, minty breath on my cheeks. His face was suddenly all that I could see, big enough to shield the outside world, important enough to make me feel giddy. I was taken aback and would instinctively wince from him, but that close proximity of our faces – the proximity only possible in my fantasies – forced myself still. His eyes bored into mine - a raging battle within, a struggle to advance or to retreat - and I could see my alarmed yet anticipating reflection in his hazel brown eyes. His lips curled and split slightly while his head tilted, moving towards my face. I mirrored his motion without full control of my body. Even with my eyes shut, I could feel Landon closing the gap between our lips, between our bodies. For that instant, our souls had combined into one magical moment, intertwined with each other for forever, and I could ascertain that a miracle had bloomed. And my heart was all at once healthy.

* * *

**Author's Note: First kiss - the point of no return. :)**

**So here's everyone's updated chapter for the last bit of summer! I can't help to fuel the end of your awesome (hopefully) summer except by giving you this bit of a chapter :) Hope you guys have the best summer yet, but don't forget about schooooll!**

**With each grade we advance, work gets tougher and leisure writing gets harder. BUT the news is, I've edited till chapter 20, I believe, and they are ready to be published once y'all have had enough of this chap!**

**Enjoy the last days of summer, enjoy school, but enjoy this chapter most of all! 3 **


	20. Deterioration

**CHAPTER NINETEEN: **_**Deterioration**_

Never in my life had I kissed a boy, I had told Landon.

We were at the Iron Steamer Pier in Pine Knoll Shores, a breathtaking beach indeed where the wind was chilly enough to freeze all my troubles.

"I figured I might have been," Landon said.

"Why? Did I do it wrong?"

He laughed. "You're a great kisser." The way he had phrased it pressured my blood to my face. The wind howled, and my cheeks burned. He chuckled, running the back of his warm finger down my face.

I turned back into the ocean, letting the pleasant sound of crashing waves drive my thoughts away. The air was vitally fresh, and the fading sun was beautiful. I leaned against Landon's body, feeling all suddenly cold and feeble, needing to be in his arms.

"Are you okay, Jamie?"

Recently, as winter became more obstinate in its chill, I began to feel lapses of weakness. In the morning, I would feel a slight giddiness, and my vision would tune out, like pixels going missing from a television screen, replaced with green, yellow, black dots. On two occasions, one of my legs had gone frail out of no apparent reasons. I had ignored those lapses, evading the truth behind them. Telling others would equate to facing the reality of death – that I was dying, that my time had run out.

Thereby, ignoring Landon's inquisition was the safest route. Instead, I asked, "Have you ever been in love?"

He ran his hand through his hair, unknowingly making himself seductive. "You mean before now?" He acted foolish.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm serious, Landon."

He seemed to be conflicting between integrity and dishonesty. I waited, hoping he would stick up to honesty with me, because no matter his answer, I somehow knew the truth already. I recalled our first outing at the homecoming and how Landon had looked at Angela with such lovesick eyes. His expression conveyed one of a lost love, a pained past. And I was glad, even relieved, that Landon had chosen to remain his stance with integrity when he answered, "Actually, I have."

"How did you know it was love?"

He looked at me, from my eyes down to my lips. "Well," he started, "you know it's love when all you want to do is spend time with the other person, and you sort of know that the other person feels the same way."

I contemplated over his answer. It made sense, because _I_ was feeling that way. His definition of falling in love might differ from Dad's more provocative view, but both were equally true – both definitions covered what I was feeling.

Landon gave my hand a squeeze, as if trying to reassure me that his past lovelife shouldn't matter much. I rested my head on his shoulders as a bodily form of reply, feeling all warm and heartened.

* * *

_The truth stands there, and it is up to me to face it or to hide it._

I had reached this epiphany in the morning two days before New Year's. I felt shaky, dizzy, and could barely hold myself still. My legs were wobbly, as if they were telling me that the battle was losing. It was worse than my previous lapses; it wasn't major, but it wasn't right.

I _had_ been hiding from the truth all the time. I had not truly been able to accept the fact that my time was up when I was still in my teens. But when the symptoms manifested began to show signs of deterioration, I could not help but embrace the callous reality.

Maybe I _was_ losing. Maybe it would just be a matter of time.

I still refused to mention anything about my morning instability to anyone, particularly Daddy. _I_ myself could acknowledge my death, but I didn't want anyone, not even Daddy, to eye me like a dying patient whose time might run out any second.

Besides, what was the point in making Dad even more miserable than he already was?

The notion of death, I realized, had not truly sunk into my heart until then, when I began falling weaker and weaker. It was just a fate that I knew I had to face soon, but not _this _soon. Now, the notion loomed high over head, its inevitability crystal-clear to me, its fear I began to cringe. The more I hung on to hope, the more I hung on to faith, the more I prayed to the all mercy Lord. The terror of the unknown, the dread of loss, the rue of life, the fright of parting. They were too much to bear, they were too much for a dying person like me.

Right after breakfast, Daddy left for the church. He claimed to have a sermon to work on, however, I had seen his complete sermon the night before while I searched for something in his room. And I was perfectly clear, as always, about what he would do at his church's office. Something that he would not want me to see, or to worry.

A vindictive life it was indeed. Why, before any dream that I could conceive would take me across the seas like a typical teenager's could, I was counting the days I had left. Days left to consummate my life, days left to clear up issues that others had decades to do.

I wanted to seek succor within my Bible, but I had given it to Landon. Therefore, I took Daddy's Bible and read, the one I had engraved "Dearest Daddy, With All My Love" and given him for Christmas. Why, the Lord was the all-encompassing Figure in the universe. I'm sure there was something he had for me, something heavenly, something that was worth the experience of death.

It was that wintry yet sun-drenched afternoon when Landon came by again. I did not know what to expect this time, after the previous surprise when Landon visited.

"Hello, Landon. You're here."

"Hey, Jamie," he breathed.

"Dad's not around, so we could sit by the porch, if you don't mind."

"No, it's okay," he blurted. "I'll be quick."

"Alright then. I was just thinking that you look entirely breathless and maybe you would like to–"

He abruptly interjected, "Would you like to have dinner with me at Cecil's Diner? During New Year's Eve?"

I hesitated, but before I could speak, Landon cut me off once again.

"I've asked your Dad, and he'd agreed."

I stared at Landon in utter incredulity, gaping at him bewilderedly. "You - what?"

"I asked your Dad. I went to the church to ask for his permission. And he said yes."

"You went to–" I could not overcome my disbelief, trying to make sense in his words, trying to find any flaw in his forwardness. "Oh, Landon!" I rushed forward to hug him tight. He returned my embrace with a tighter, more passionate one.

"And all I need now," he breathed into my ear, "is your decision."

I untangled myself from his wrapping arms, and looked straight into his eyes.

"I'd love to, very much, Landon."

With that, he pulled me in, and I held him tightly in my arms, our bodies pressing hard on each others', unable to let each other go.

* * *

**Author's Note: Here's another chapter to celebrate the one-week anniversary of school! Whoohoo! (Not.)**

**This is a quick update - less than 10 days, I believe. I was intending only to update in the upcoming week, but I am currently burdened with the likely prospect of multiple tests in the next week, and I would like to work on other writings as well if possible. Hence, here's all of your early-bird chapter!**

**Hope school's been going so far so good. Rereading this fanfic made me realize how _often_ I am committed to describing Jamie's stream of consciousness. I am, believably, a fan of relevant streams, but there are quite a bunchful out there who aren't supporters of such. What a conflicting world. :S**

**Enjoy this chapter! I know my style of writing _heavily contrasts_ Nick Sparks's, but that makes us two wholly people. :)**

**P.S. I've reedited the first chapter, added more details, and organized the flooding information about Jamie's life and plans. If you don't mind, just take a quick glance - wouldn't take too long, I suppose. :) Keep reviewing guys, I love reviews.**


	21. First True Date

**CHAPTER TWENTY: **_**First True Date**_

That night, I placed Daddy on a series of incessant interrogation about Landon.

"What _exactly_ did he say, Dad?" I kept asking, certain that there was _more_ than "Is it alright if I took her to dinner on New Year's Eve?"

"Well," Daddy started, squinting his eyes, feigning a concentrated recollection. "At first I said no firmly. Then he almost left for the door. But before he actually went _out_ of my office, he turned back and…apologized."

I gasped. "He apologized? For what?"

"For misbehaving when he was young."

"Oh." I was right, I really was. There _was_ something good, something benign, in Landon that nobody saw, no one but me. All his belligerence, all his mischief, they were merely his dominated outwardly disposition, one that he would outgrow someday. Deep inside, too deep and too entrenched within that was so easily neglected, was his angelic self that clearly defined the inherent facet of who Landon truly was.

And I saw that.

"Jamie," Dad broke through my ephemeral sense of triumph, "I believe that Landon had misunderstood my lack of enthusiasm when he asked you out."

I decided it safer to keep silent.

"Are you planning to tell him anytime soon, Jamie?"

I breathed, closing my eyes. Telling Landon about _it_ was my nightmare. His love for me would change. The way he looked at me would change. My life would flip upside-down. _I_ would no longer be the same.

"No."

"But he'll need to know soon-"

"No, Dad," I affirmed. "Things will change too much if I do."

"I understand," Daddy whispered. "But after all, _he_'ll find out one day, and it'd be best if _you_ are the one who told him."

I nodded, hoping that this little gesture would put an end to this discussion, without the intention to acknowledge Daddy's words.

"So, what else did he say?" I tried for optimism in my voice.

"Nothing much, besides his apology."

"Come on, Dad!" I nudged him. "There's got to be more than that." I shook Dad's arm, pleading with my eyes.

He laughed. "Alright, alright. There's one more. But it's cheesy, I doubt if you really want to hear it."

"I'll hear anything he had said," I clarified.

"He said," Daddy began, slowly and dramatically, "'I love her.'"

At that, I slumped the cushion into my face, mortified. My cheeks went aflame. Through the blanketed layer, I cried, in exuberance or in embarrassment, "He didn't say that!"

"Oh yes, he did, Jamie. I heard it, loud and crystal-clear."

I pressed the cushion harder against my cheeks. Such declaration of affection was downright bizarre, especially when the receiver was the parent of the lover.

"Jamie, look at me. Jamie?"

"No, Dad."

"Do what you want, but I'll say what I will. I'm happy for you, honey. You're growing up, and love is a part of that. No matter _when_ your time's up, love will always be an eternal part of you, be it my love or Landon's love for you. Love dries not with time."

"Too philosophical," I commented, pulling the smothering coating away, gulping lungful of air, giving Dad the I-do-not-care façade, but in reality, I wanted to believe that Daddy's words were the truest of all truths.

He continued, as if preaching at a sermon, but with handled gentleness. "Love like this, Jamie, is a great experience, one that does not stop at death. But you need to know, honey," he paused, turning away from me for a few moments. I heard heavy breathings, a suppressed hiccup, and a sniff before he turned back to be with a forced smile that did not reach his cheeks. "Honey, dying means letting go."

This time was my turn to break down. Tears cascaded in waterfalls, gravity forcing them downward, my hands weren't efficient enough to dry them. "Why, Daddy?" I demanded between cries. "Why me? I just found Landon, I'm the only one you have…" I rolled myself up into a ball, my eyes pressing hard against my kneecaps, trying to press the tears away, trying to halt their flow, trying to hide away my weakness, my fears. I could feel the wet cloth against my skin, wet from the tears.

A hand moved forward to caress my head. I hugged myself tighter, pressing my sorrow back to its concealed area within my heart, to leash it back in me. I sniffed, I coughed, I hiccupped, but with all of the noises I heard, the dissonance of sounds was not wholly from me.

It was a long time that we sat there, each struggling with our unleashed burden. I thought through Daddy, thought through Landon and how he had declared his love for me. I loved him, truly. But he could not love me.

I must undo his love, mustn't I?

I must be selfless, he must find true, lasting love. I must leave him, I must be fair to him. Mustn't I?

I raised my head, the fresh breath of air rejuvenated me. My legs went stiff, and I stretched them, the large circles on my pants saturated through to reach my skin. "Dad?"

He was curled up, hugging a cushion. From my stand, the cushion was positioned rightly to masquerade his face. "Yes?" he murmured out, his voice hoarse and out of place.

I wanted to tell him, I was about to say out loud, that I wanted to leave Landon, that I needed to leave Landon. Yet at the very moment before the words poured out, I sucked them back in. Somehow, saying out this new decision made it impossible to repeal it back. Somehow, saying it out would mean that I _had_ to do it, that this was the reality I had destined myself to face. Somehow, I was feeling qualms of guilt.

"Nothing," I said instead.

He moved and shuffled to wipe his reddened cheeks and faced me. "Jamie," Dad started, "I want you to be perfectly honest with me.

"Anything."

"How is your condition now?"

I hardened into my stand.

"I know you've been trying to hide things from me, but _please_ do understand that I'm your father. I have the rights to know about your condition."

"I wasn't not trying to hide," I protested.

"Is it deteriorating?"

"No."

"Is it, Jamie? Truthfully?"

"No, Dad." I stared into his eyes, conveying my fallacious honesty. Our eyes bored intently, a soundless war raging between our sights. His vehemence could not thrust me down. Between the lie at the frontier and the truth, I erected a fortress, one strong enough to back up the fabrication and to guard the truth.

"Do you swear to the Bible that you speak of nothing but the truth?"

That caught me. I could lie straight in the eye to Dad, but to the all-encompassing Lord, I could not. Relinquished, I looked away. Despite my forceful stare, Dad was no deceptive man.

"I do not understand why you are so unwilling to tell me," Dad whispered dejectedly.

"Just because you're my father."

"My job as your _father_, Jamie, is to ensure all the best for you. Keeping your condition away from me is not considered as 'the best for you,' Jamie."

"My job as your daughter is also to ensure the best for you. That includes, keeping the unnecessary worries from you, Dad."

"You mean to say…your condition actually deteriorated?" His voice raised as a projection of concern, yet suppressive to his augmenting trepidation.

Remaining still was the sole choice left.

"Jamie!"

Silence lapsed.

"Try putting yourself in my shoes. When your daughter, your beloved daughter tries to keep the truth from you…" His voice trailed away.

I faced Daddy. He was wiping a tear off his left cheek.

"Oh, Daddy!" I rushed forward to embrace him. "I didn't mean that. I just _couldn't_ bear to see you cry like this. I just didn't want this moment to be real."

"Jamie," he croaked. "It will be difficult for both of us, but that does not mean that we can always steer past the difficulties." He sniffed, but continued quickly. "Life without you will surely be insufferable; nothing can be as _absolute_ as this fact. But that does not imply that the day will not come if we hide. That does not equate that by hiding from it, I can escape from it all my life, too. No.

"The day your mom passed away, oh Jamie, it was sure worse than the moment when I learned about your condition. Because I knew, even if your death was imminent, that I would still have the _time_ to love you, to compensate and fulfill my responsibility. It wasn't an unexpected _abrupt_ news – I've been given _time_ to prepare for it. We all die one day, we all will. Besides, Jamie, I've been through worse, I've been through remorse when your mother left me, because it was too sudden. Yesterday we were still having dinner together, none of us thought that the next day would be tragedy. I _never_, I swear, I never thought I'd lose her so soon. We had more than a lifetime to go. It's like…" he stopped, but I could tell that his words had continued on in his head. I stepped forward to hold him steady, tears streaking down the dried paths. I wanted to speak, but I didn't know what to say. To comfort Daddy, or to console myself?

"That is why, Jamie, I want you to tell Landon. Because if he loses someone he truly loves suddenly…he'd be _the miserable me_ when I had suddenly lost your mother. Such torment is…timeless. I never got over it, I just braved _through_ it. Even till today, Jamie. But at least, I have you to remind me of her…but what does Landon have?"

This epiphany incited a spasm of guilt in me. It was true. What would be left of Landon when I'm gone? Leaving him would not dissolve the matter. Leaving him would give him _nothing_ to remember me.

"I'll think of a way to tell him soon," I stated.

Reassured, Dad leaned back on the couch. His lethargic eyes closed, and he noiselessly murmured, "That's my girl."

Leaving Landon was the last thing I would wish for, but if it was necessary, I would do it.

However, the question was, was it necessary?

Leaving him would cast away all those unnecessary grief. Leaving him would give him the chance to start anew before falling too deep in our relationship. Leaving him would leave him more time to find love instead of wasting his effort on a dying kid like me.

But, leaving him would give him no memory of me.

What would he hold on to, after I ceased to exist? Landon would need something, something _tangible_ to remind him of our love we shared once. I had given him the Bible, but it held no significance for him to equate to mine. I had nothing left to give him but memories and grief.

Memories. After I became nonexistent, after I finally met my Creator, our memories would become bittersweet. They would evoke grief, but they would bring him back to our sweet moments. He could replay them like a spoilt record, he could listen to them to bring him to sleep. He could remember what he had lost in life but he would know that they were precious enough to let him know how real I had once been.

Why, then, should I leave him?

-e-

The next few days I tried not to think about dying _or_ about leaving Landon. Instead, I redirected my attention to spend time with Daddy and to visit the orphanage. As I promised, I bought toys for the kids, and I wrote cards to each child there, including Mr. Jenkins, as a form of their memories with me. I tried not to make each card sound too much like a farewell speech, but Mr. Jenkins still spotted something amiss and questioned me one evening.

"Jamie!" he had called to stop me before I left the orphanage.

I turned and smiled. "Mr. Jenkins, is everything fine?"

"I'm fine," he replied. "Are you?"

I frowned. "Of course I'm fine!" I snarled ferociously. My abruptly stern tone stupefied not only Mr. Jenkins but myself as well. I quickly tried to amend my way. "I mean, I'm feeling great!" I gave him a flashy grin to bring him back to animation.

I honestly did not recall myself feeling so…_defensive_ against my bodily condition. Yes, I refused to allow anyone to know about it, and thereby with every questioning, no matter how casual it was, I would instinctively deny any sign of feeling unwell. But never had I imagined myself to harbor such denial that would develop into strict guardedness like this.

Color flushed back to Mr. Jenkins's countenance as he managed a succinct reply, "N-nice to hear that, Jamie."

I immediately tried a conciliatory explanation for my sudden change in tone, "Well, it's just that…a lot has been on my mind. You know, college and stuff."

Mr. Jenkins smiled a little. "Yeah, that. I understand."

"Do I look that stressed out?"

Mr. Jenkins shrugged, his reply slightly more guarded than before. "Not stressed out, but lethargic. You…stare in space several times, and you aren't as vigorous as you were before…" He trailed off.

I laughed forcibly. "Too stressed-out, perhaps, Mr. Jenkins. I don't get enough sleep these days."

"Ah, I see."

"Well," I began. "I need to go soon. I'll visit you another day, and I'll make sure I'll have a good night's sleep before I come!"

"Okay. G'night, Jamie."

"Good night, Mr. Jenkins." I forced a smile.

"Good luck," he grinned, the smile touching the bottom of his eyes.

"Thanks," I gave him a pat on the shoulder. "See you."

When I turned away, it wasn't until I was out of the gate before I realized that my acting skills had improved rather drastically. I felt nauseous.

-e-

Time flew by so swiftly that it was New Year's Eve before I had even realized. Not that I did not look forward to that extravagant evening that I was going for dinner with Landon _alone_, but I was spending time with Daddy and the orphans such that time was something too abstract that I could not keep track of.

That night was my first _official_ date, and Dad, while I prepared with enthusiasm for the evening, always ending our dialogue with a reclusive murmur meant for himself, "My girl's grown up." I would occasionally feel guilty, because Daddy truly needed me, and growing up – no, it wasn't the right time for it.

I slipped into my plain black dress, formal enough to dine in a fine restaurant. My hair was styled simplistically to flow down my shoulders, and I pinned back my fringe. I was not certain about the dressing ethics for a true date, but I figured that I would settle with a simple dress and a pair of boots up to my shins.

Landon picked me up just as he had promised. He drove in silence, but I was, unthinkably, savoring that moment of silence. It was not a moment of unspeakable thoughts or awkward togetherness but a moment when both of us felt each other's endearing presence, acknowledging the love filled in the air and that was truly all we needed.

When we arrived at the place, a restaurant named Flauvin's, Landon offered me his hand. I daintily accepted his gentlemanly gesture, and together, we walked, fingers intertwined with each others'. The owner of the restaurant greeted us and showed us our tables. I observed the people – they wore fashionably, some were even elaborate and lavish. With my simple dress, I felt like a plain Jane.

When we had settled down, it was then when I could truly absorb the disposition of the area. There was a dance floor, a simple one, distinctively different from the blaringly electrifying one at Homecoming. Two couples were enjoying themselves, apparently unaware that people could publicly perceive their affections. I coughed and looked around our table instead to give them less publicity of one person. The tables closest to ours were all couples in their mid 20s to 30s. I skimmed through the entire restaurant – Landon and I were the only teenage couples that evening.

Love was certainly tangible in the restaurant. All customers were paired up with their spouses.

"This is wonderful," I told Landon. "Thank you for asking me."

"My pleasure," he said classically.

"Have you been here before?"

"A few times. My mother and father like to come here sometimes when my father comes home from Washington."

I nodded, a brief respond to his words. Looking around me, especially at the river scenery outside, I breathed, "It's beautiful here."

"So are you."

I turned back to him, only to find him staring intently at me, a cheeky smile bored into his alluring face. The fiery burn gushed up to my cheeks. "Oh, you don't mean that."

"Yes," he whispered, softly but resolutely, "I do."

He reached out for my hand, and every second he did not let go, I could feel my heart threatening to leap out of my chest. While waiting for our dinner, we talked about the past memories we shared. We laughed, we smiled. We revealed our deepest intentions for our past actions now that we were close enough to disclose. As we went through memories after memories, it occurred to me that within such a short period of time that we had acquainted with each other – half a year, in fact – so many pleasant memories we had created. It would be the feasible, then, if we effectively used our remaining time together to fabricate new and congenial memories together to hold on to forever.

We were discussing about our first "date" to the homecoming dance. Landon laughed as he finally revealed his true motive to ask me to dance, and I chuckled. As the President of the student body, it was customary for him to have a date. So he had chosen me. I might have guessed such purpose if I was willing to place effort into deciphering his action.

"Would you want to take me again?" I teased, laughing.

"Absolutely."

I smiled sweetly at him, staring at his impeccable visage. An impulse to stroke his smooth, silky tanned skin almost choked me. I struggled terribly against that urge, and fortunately, the arrival of our dinner had saved me.

Dinner was indeed delicious, mainly due to the person sitting opposite me. His presence was more than enough to make the food sweeter than it already was. We both had sea bass and salads, and after our utensils were cleared, the music began.

He stepped to my side, and offered me his arm, the second time in a night, "Would you like to dance with me?"

At first, we were the only ones hitting the dance floor. I could palpably feel the million pairs of eyes watching us gliding around. I felt extremely self-conscious initially, but after Landon held me by my hips, and my arms draped around his neck, I had totally lost myself. We gazed into each other's eyes, and I, completely absorbed by the soft affection displayed on his face.

The lights dimmed out, the music slow but fervent. Landon stepped closer to my body, and I leaned my head upon his strongly-built muscles, I wondered if there was any feeling more superior than to be deeply in love.

-e-

After that night, my condition _had_ radically ebbed. I had a fever running high, and my face burned while my body trembled. I hid in my blanket, trying to warm my fingers and toes unsuccessfully, until I had to call Daddy for help. Sometimes, the overheating would seem too much and I would break out into sweats before returning to feeling cold. Dad was so anxious, so anxious that he stammered whenever he spoke. I lay down with an ice pack on my forehead, my mind spinning hysterically within me. I imagined the worst scenarios that could happen to me. I

I couldn't ease my dreadful trepidation. My time was probably up. How much time was remaining? Should I start counting in months, weeks, or even _days_?

I closed my eyes, but not for long. Memories raced through my heads in transversal fleets – the time I found out my due date, the feeling of the end, the Christmas play, the evening at the orphanage with Landon, the first time he shouted at me, the meaning of love Dad had defined for me, my first kiss. The more I thought through them, the more anguish I endured. It was no longer a matter of pain; heartache, mental agony was the fixation. I couldn't bear to leave this world, with Landon alone, his love unreturned, with Dad alone, his love vanished. Too many things were holding me back, burdening me back to this earth.

My mind was finally lethargic from too much pondering. I fell into a shallow trance, occasionally waking up at Daddy's gentle touch of my forehead and cheeks, ensuring the fever under control. I would rouse slightly whenever I flipped, positioning the bag of half-melted ice on my forehead.

By the time I awakened, Dad had already prepared a tray of breakfast by my bedside. I precariously rose from bed, kicking my blanket away. I felt a heavy dizziness in my head, like a spinning metal placed at the back of my mind. Balancing myself, I held the side of the bed tightly and sat upright, the lightheadedness slowly fading away. However, a new aching took over. I rubbed my temples hard.

I made my way cautiously to the bathroom, supporting my unfocused walk with tight grips with anything within reach. Dad heard my bulky footsteps, and instantly rushed by my side to support me.

"I'm fine, Daddy," I lied, placing my hand on my forehead. "Look, the fever's subsided. I'm great." I even flashed a smile to him, closing my eyes because I was too fatigue to open them.

Dad ignored my words. "I'll be outside the bathroom. Call if you need my help."

"I doubt I will."

I washed up and ambled back into my room, with Dad's adamant assistance. The headache had gone worse, and all I wanted to do was to lie back into bed and sleep the ache away. Dad eyed me while I consumed my breakfast in silence, making it tougher to put on the act. I would occasionally look up to return his stare as a way for him to halt his gawk.

"Jamie," he began, "I'll bring you to the doctor's after you've eaten your fill." Eating my fill was easy, because I had no appetite to eat anything.

"Dad," I protested, "the doctors can't do anything. My illness is already terminal. It's rapid. They've said I've got only half a year left since summer. And living up till now, perhaps seven months already, I can't be happier without the doctor."

"No, I'll take you to the hospital."

"I'm fine, really," I insisted, but Dad would not buy it. He had no idea how much I _feared_ the hospital. It was a wicked, a wretched place, where the time of people's deaths were affirmed. Doctors diagnosed patients after patients and determined their deaths without truly _comprehending_ the emotional impact their diagnosis had on others. They were cold-blooded animals. They made people suffer and felt none themselves. Did they understand how much it was for me to _die_?

Nevertheless, Dad dragged me to the hospital. During the entire commute, I sulked. The smell, that pungent, familiar smell of death – I remembered them well. I constantly sneezed in repulsion when I was there, and kept sniffing. My nose entirely resembled a clown's by the time I reached home.

The doctors did a thorough check on my blood. That wretched blood test, when the nurses, the amiable façade of the nurses, jabbed the needle into my skin, I cried. Partially in pain, but mainly in fear. The stinging pain awakened the excruciating memory of the chemotherapies. Ever since I had discovered my illness, I cultivated an aversion to injections and nurses. The sickening chemotherapies only contributed to my distinct aversion. And worse, the doctors had made it such that I _believed_ that the chemos would aid my illness, to bring me back to the pink of health so that I would condone to the pain, but in the end, I still had to die.

I screamed in pain at the memories that I had effectually suppressed ever since my chemos ended. I caged and tucked them safely into a corner of my memory, where I would be entirely forbidden to visit. However, this stimulating jab unbolted the boundaries of the memories I had secured. It was insufferable, unspeakable. Dad only watched me in a tortured face, unable to comprehend my cries but to watch in sympathy.

In the end, the doctors had revealed that my white blood cells count was augmenting greatly. Indeed, they had needlessly confirmed that my condition was hopeless, my future doomed. They could not precisely estimate the time I had left, but given the rate of deterioration, they predicted that I might have to count my time in weeks.

Weeks. Could it be a week, or ten weeks? It was a major difference between seven days and two and a half months. The number of memories would differ; the amount of love I experienced would vary. I am a teenager, an ambitious teenager who was supposedly having a bright future of adulthood, a future of endless number of _years_. And this teenager – Jamie Sullivan – who now only had a bleak future ahead, who could never live past teenage years, had to count her remaining life span in _weeks._ Weeks would fly by quickly. A few weekends, a few Sundays left. Majority of the few weeks, in fact, would be dedicated to being immobile in bed, feeble at home. Deducting these bedridden weeks, how much time would I have left? I forced my mental calculation to stop.

That afternoon, I sat on the couch, staring into space, thinking of nothing in particular. _What_ could I think about? My death? I was absolutely clueless how it would feel like to die, needless to say about the "life" after death. Dad sat beside me, submerging himself into his muses. Occasionally, I would see him rub his eyes, or wipe his cheeks with his wrinkly hands.

It was then, when Dad and I both wrapped up in our own unspeakable thoughts, Landon arrived. He had came by often, either to invite me for a walk at the beach, or spend some time at the Neuse River, tossing stones into the fragile surface of the waters. That day, however, he offered to accompany me to the orphanage. Dad had, apparently, heard Landon's endearing invitation but shook his head. Through his eyes, he conveyed a strong sense of worry that only both of us – Dad and I – understood. I had to apologize to Landon, but proposed if we both visited the kids the day after next, because I was feeling ill and dying, and Dad felt…tired.

We ended up sitting in the porch, standing up several times to walk in my little garden. Throughout our acquaintance, my headache never died down but was slightly allayed, especially with Landon by my side to remind me that I was the most fortunate (though sick) girl in Beaufort. We chatted, though Landon fueled most of our conversation, and the more Landon revealed about his inner thoughts and secrets, the guiltier I felt for not confessing about my condition.

But such matter that communicated much gravity was not a conversational issue that I could easily throw into our casual talks. No words were competent of articulating my matter, not until that particular day when I felt too sick that I had to disclose myself.

* * *

**Author's Note: And soon will the climax finally arrive.**

**I apologize for this long chapter. There just seemed to be _too_ many plot I find necessary to include before the upcoming chapter of disclosure. Three weeks of no update - my bad. The past few weekends were nothing but work and work. This upcoming week will be much more relaxing for us :)**

**Hope this chapter was awesome. Looks like I can write a fanfiction better than an original piece. Words just flow out more smoothly here...**


	22. Revealed

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: _REVEALED_**

I could never forget that particular day.

I was running a high fever the previous night, but unlike the usual, it did not ease even in the morning. Dad had taken me to the doctor's after light breakfast, despite knowing that the medical visit would not ensue consolation or efficacy. And clearly, news from the doctor was anything but hopeful. I took pills of Tylenol and an assortment of other tablets, but those only cooled the fever, not my sickness, not the sore all over my body, not the giddiness whirling in me.

Furthermore, my headache worsened over time after a small bite of bread and a sip of milk for lunch. Unable to see straight during my commute to the bathroom, I bumped into the dining table's leg. At first I dismissed that minute collision, but the bruising never faded as it should have, raising my internal alarm.

I was feeling, indeed, not any better that afternoon, though my forehead had chilled with ice pack. However, I was still able to smile at the right time, to insert a joke or a casual laugh into the conversation at the correct moments. Daddy could not accurately perceive my actual health condition, seeing that I still _had_ the vigor to fulfill my expected role in a dialogue. That was the most probable explanation I could conceive when Dad still allowed me to accept Landon's invitation to Cecil's in town that night.

Initially, I was not keen of going to town, since it was quite a distance away from home and I yearned to rest in bed. My entire body was drained of the last bit of energy, and lethargy seemed to be an intrinsic portion of my spirits. However, I daren't refuse Landon's invitation, since, as Dad recently noticed, it was out of my usual disposition to _refuse_ a date with Landon. Besides, declining Landon would place him on alert, and he could easily uncover my secret, though it was soon a matter of time before I would be way too lean to find any effort to cover up for my sudden weakness.

In the car, not only did my headache persist, but it also began to aggravate. Mingling with slight giddiness that might be perhaps due to the car motion, from time to time, nausea would overcome me. Afraid that I would throw up in the front seat and ruin the car and our date as well, I kept my dread unvoiced and held my breath whenever the feeling peaked.

At every traffic junction, Landon would look at me with solicitude and occasionally question my wellbeing. Once, I alluded that I was feeling rather tired. "Do we really have to go today?" I had asked, but Landon persisted upon our arrival, claiming that it would be time that his friends knew about us – our relationship. It was especially heartening that he finally chose to publicize our acquaintance to his friends, with the ghost of the knowledge that he had once lied to his friends about our rapport. Hence, I did not say anything else about my ailing condition afterwards, empathizing with his thinking.

Unfortunately, with the teasing nature of Fate itself, none of Landon's friends was at Cecil's Diner. I was under the impression that he might have invited them beforehand; however, as it had turned out, he was placing his bets on chance. The entire place was in an approximate solitude, and the wind growled ferociously outside the restaurant.

I had barely touched my food, I remembered. Although the nauseous feeling had died away, but sometimes, I would see flickers of stars impeding my vision. It was as if my eyes were a television screen, and the screen's reception to my mind was intermittently meddled with. The screen pixels seemed as if they had gone missing, only to be replaced with yellowish-green dots, tightly limiting my vision.

Such spasm lasted a few seconds – a few giddy seconds. I had to grasp on something, anything, to balance my body. I reckoned Landon hadn't noticed that, because he had never asked, "Are you okay?" throughout.

After dinner, we fought our way to the car against the relentless wind. It raged ravenously, freezing my cheekbones. I trembled during our entire walk, my teeth quivering fiercely, my fingers and toes numb. I hugged myself closer to Landon's body, attempting to gain some warmth. I could barely walk straight. I remembered my legs weakening a few times, but Landon's grasp of my body prevented my collapse. My mind raced through many thoughts as we braved against the ferocious gale. I thought about Landon's friends and why they didn't come today. Did they despise me that much? What had changed Landon into revealing our close intimacy? Would they even accept me?

Why would I even need their approval?

"People think I'm strange, don't they?" I asked Landon abruptly, trying to quench the augmenting questions formulated in my mind.

"Who do you mean?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"People at school."

He buried his face in my hair. "No, they don't." He stated firmly. He pecked my cheek, trying to reassure me of his blatant lie. I winced, not at his affectionate feat, but because I suddenly felt faint again and my head light, almost collapsing backward.

"Are you okay?" Landon questioned when he held my arm tight.

"I'm…fine," I replied, summoning back my rationality, straightening myself. "Will you do me a favor?"

"Anything," he pledged, almost instantly. I was caught stunned by the ephemeral moment at his straightforwardness and promptness but took it to my advantage.

"Will you promise to tell me the truth from now on? Always, I mean."

"Sure," he replied without thinking through my possible demands.

I stopped walking and looked straight into his eyes. "Are you lying to me right now?" I was pretty sure that people in school did think I was weird, but Landon's denial previously made it harder to accept. Was it that hard for him to tell me the truth? I merely wanted to hear it from his lips.

"No," he said defensively, his eyes adamantly boring into mine. He had the same expression I encompassed when I was convincing Daddy of my "wholesome" health. I looked away in disappointment.

He had, perhaps, caught my minute action that spoke louder than my silence, because he quickly vowed, "I promise that from now on, I'll always tell the truth."

I smiled at him, yet inside, I was feeling sicker than ever. How easily could he lie in front of my eyes? I decided to give it one last try to assert my inquiry.

"People think I'm strange, don't they?" I repeated my question.

It took him a while, but he eventually complied. "Yes."

"Why?" I pleaded despondently. "Why?"

"People…have different reasons," he answered, trying to stick to the vaguest truth.

"But why, exactly?" I dug. "Is it because of my father? Or is it because I try to be nice to people?"

"I…suppose."

I couldn't bear to know that such things were true. I was expecting Landon to ease the brutality of the truth that people despised me for absolutely superficial reasons, but it was better to know the truth that I wanted to uncover after all, wasn't it? Yet even until departure, truths were just so hard to accept, wasn't it?

We strolled in silence, each step demanding more effort. My bruised fingers were frozen and numb. We were approaching the car, but there was still quite some distance. Landon's straightforward answer lingered in my mind.

"Do you think I'm strange too?" I asked Landon.

His expression strongly evinced vexation and he could not answer my question directly. He held my arms firmly and pulled me in a swift rotation such that my body faced his. Leaning in close, he lightly pressed his lips on mine. I savored that moment, but still awaited his answer – not in action, but in words.

"You're a wonderful person, Jamie." He breathed and lifted my chin up. My dizziness increased with a lifted head, but at the sight of his tender expression fixed upon his unerringly gorgeous visage, there was no pain that could not fade. "You're beautiful, you're kind, you're gentle…you're everything that I'd like to be. If people don't like you, or they think you're strange, then that's their problem."

I took those words in, wondering if it was really just a few months back when I had never thought that Landon would ever breathe such words of affection to me. I smiled at him, smiling like there was no other paradise.

"I love you, Jamie," he continued. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

There was no trace of conflict in his eyes when he said that. There was no torrent visible to me – nothing to foreshadow this smooth confession of love, even the tumult of emotions that raged in his eyes right before our first kiss was absent in that moment. I stood there, absolutely incoherent. Words were locked in my heart, the gush of sweetness and love toiled within me. I wanted to return his declaration, to make him aware of my love too, but suddenly, as if our mutual affection had evoked a past memory, my mind was tuned back to the times of yore. My own voice replayed loudly in my head: _Promise that you won't fall in love with me_. Landon had laughed off my request: _Of course, I promise_, he had said.

What happened to our promise?

Landon could _not_ love me, he didn't understand and he mustn't understand why. Besides, didn't he just promised me half a year ago that he would not fall in love with me? Love was the wrong emotion to feel now. Love was the wrong episode to occur.

Love shouldn't be my salvation or my miracle.

I lowered my head, vividly aware that our forbidden love had progressed way too deep to be extricated. Its roots had matured deep into our veins, its arms reached out to the deepest portions of our hearts.

It was all too late to take back.

If I plucked this love out of us, all there would be left was a bleeding vacuum.

And this vacuum would be left lethal, left deadly when I would be gone.

Nothing could save Landon from that lethalness anymore.

"Please don't say that," I croaked, crying out loud for the first time in front of Landon. "Please…"

"But I do," Landon whispered.

"I'm sorry," I whispered through my cries. "I'm so, so sorry…"

"Why are you sorry?" he asked, the tone more than mere concern. "Is it because of my friends and what they'll say? I don't care anymore – I really don't."

Landon pulled me in his arms, and I stood there crying for a really long time. I could not believe that this day was ever to come. I didn't know what to feel, or what not to feel. The emotions overwhelmed me way beyond a cogent point. I closed my eyes, letting only the sound of my irrepressible sobs drown me.

"You can't be in love with me, Landon," I told him through my muffled voice. "We can be friends, we can see each other…but you _can't_ love me."

"Why not?" he pushed me back, thrown.

This was it, I was so sure, but I just couldn't say it out – couldn't tell him that I was dying.

"Because," I murmured, hoping that Landon would never have to hear this truth that would change him forever. "I'm very sick, Landon."

He looked at me, not comprehending the gravity of my words.

"So what?" he demanded. "You'll take a few days…"

I gave him a morbid smile that might've scared me if I could see it myself with all the might I could muster. I didn't know how to get it across, but the words just flowed out as if I'd regularly rehearsed them.

"I'm dying, Landon."

I had never been so sure of myself before, but I _knew_ my life would change, forever and ever as it spun crazily out of control.

* * *

**Author's Note: A month and a half of lagging...I'm so sorry. :(**

**I can tell from the massive drop in hits that I should be updating soon. But the month of October was nothing but a hectic mess. And November is even worse when you add nanowrimo to my everyday schedule. Yes, I'm working on my own first piece of original! And honestly, writing this fanfic helped me a great deal in practising writing. Though I must say the words flow out much easily with this fanfic than with my original. **

**And yet, I've decided to procrastinate everything else just to pump out this chapter for you all. :) ****I hope you've never been gone for all these while...**

**So, this chapter might be extraordinarily short compared to the previous one (chapter 20 was a huge chunk), but it's a great deal of sadness and morbidity. Life's just so outta control. :)**

**Enjoy, guys! I'll update once the month's over (aka once nanowrimo's over!). Cheers :)**


	23. Aftermath

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: **_**Aftermath**_

The look that thundered and flashed across Landon's face was one that time could never wear out. He paled, his eyes scouring desperately through mine for a trace of levity. He stared at me waiting for a punch line to stop all these incoming disbelief and dread, but I could provide him none. He kept waiting for a smile to curl up on my lips, for a quick laugh to assure him that it was a joke, a stupid, humorless joke, and that I was healthy, I would live… He was waiting for me to break out laughing, but I was waiting for him to wrap his mind around this crazy logic that I was dying.

"No…" he moaned, gradually succumbing to the looming reality. "There has to be some mistake…" His voice edged at between horror and desperation. He was livid beyond the living.

His reaction… It was the thing that had restrained me from telling, from letting anyone know about this. In that moment of weakness, my heart was wrecked, so wrecked that it couldn't be destroyed any further.

Incomprehension. Shock. Disbelief. Denial. Anguish. Comprehension. Breaking down. This chronology – his chronology of expression – it seemed vaguely familiar, the same set of emotions I had once experienced seven months ago.

Even now, I could not place a definite quantity to the number of days I had left. I wished I could tell him something more, something to stop Landon from fully realizing that he would have to lose me one day. But I couldn't bear to spill out any other words from my accursed lips that had already drained life out of him. Landon stared back at me, his gaze devoid of any symptom of life, as he blankly tried to wrap his mind around the inane reality with great difficulty.

All that I could murmur through the pain that started curling up all within me, that made each and every muscle flinch, was "I'm sorry." I shook my head, flinging my tears that landed on his jacket. I was too culpable for all these, I should never have let all these begun…I should have let him go and liberate him from all this mess when I wasn't falling for him so irrevocably. Now everything had progressed to a point of no return: he must face this burden, and I was to endure the gravity and guilt. And Landon just stood there all the time, unable to look into my eyes, and cried his heart out on that street.

He clung on to me, in the same poise I did to him moments ago. His arm that once held my stance was now digging deep into my jacket, so deep that I could feel the tightness of his grasp. His breaths came in rapid, shallow pants, his mind in an unmitigated clutter. I clasped his shoulder despite myself, and he weakly buried his head beside mine, sniffing through my jacket, unwilling to allow my witness of his collapse even at his weakest point. He probably assumed that he had to be strong for me, when all the world seemed so morbid, yet it had never occurred to him that since the beginning of summer when my demise was announced, I had grown strong already, strong enough for myself, strong enough to sustain _live_ up to this point in time.

I pulled myself closer to him, feeding his grief some solace, making it patent that I was still alive, that I hadn't died yet. He cried so silently, yet I could feel all the misery, all those tears that wrapped us up so wholly in our own world. With my arms embraced around Landon's body and my cheek rested upon his shoulder, I vaguely saw the external, remote world. A couple walked down the street past us, completely oblivious to our wrapped-up adversity; a dog dashed across the street, in an unmindful ignorance against our angst. All those worldly, secular happenings at this point in time, while Landon was still futilely struggling with the notion that our "forever" would reach an abrupt halt almost immediately, they seemed too _normal_. People could obey traditions, eagerly anticipating the New Year as couples demurely hesitating for their first kiss of the year; yet I could practically be wavering for my final death kiss.

Was such conviviality even legitimate? It seemed almost as if the world was celebrating my departure.

What felt worse was that Landon seemed like he was crying over my lifeless body.

"I'm so sorry, Landon," I whispered into his ears again, unable to command a steadier voice to convey my deep apology. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for all of these to happen. I'm sorry."

All these time, he uttered no reply. He didn't _have to_, after all. He only pulled me tighter, as if necessitating a physical reminder that I was still responsive to his touch.

e

Landon's composure never materialized.

In that harsh, slicing wind of the winter's night, I explained it all to him. I had leukemia, and I was dying. I found that out right before summer began, and my chemotherapies started then for the entire vacation. But eventually, the doctors figured that the chemos were ineffectual. And my diseased was declared terminal, incurable, and therefore,fatal_._

He kept whispering, "No, no, there has to be some mistake – " but I knew, somewhere among the consolatory notions my mind held, that he was evidently digesting all these relentless reality inside and needed to hear for himself that all these were not real so reality would be much easier to accept. Maybe.

I cried on that street with him not because I felt sorry for myself, that my end was coming, or that I would no longer be able to walk on the surface of this beautiful planet anymore. My tears were induced by Landon's tears. His pain – I could feel them myself, tripled the agony of the chemos. His loss – I could feel them myself, harder than my own because he would have to _live_ with his loss. However, my tears became less willing to flow when we reached the car, despite the heartache that continued to swell terribly in my chest. Landon, however, could not stop. He would sporadically apologize for his unavailing attempts as he tried to breathe the tears back. But his tears were steadfast and unyielding; they scurried down his cheeks a second later like wild dingoes unleashed from their shackles.

These cries – over me – did not desist, but had only exacerbated after we got home. Dad was looking right at us, seeing my swollen lids and Landon's yet ungovernable tears. He ushered us in from the cold and hugged us, cried with us, prayed with us. While Dad tried to instill some sense into Landon – that my condition was already inevitable, and crying would not aid – Landon still could not hold back his snuffles and salts. No one faulted him, in fact. Dad and I had been through the lapses of perplexities that Landon was undergoing and we were merely trying to lighten the misery in the atmosphere that hung tightly upon us.

I figured that Landon had confided his grief to his parents, for, the following day, Mr. and Mrs. Carter came to express their deepest regrets and we cried together, all over again.

Crying and pessimism were all way past myself. I'd lived with this condition for the past seven months, and I hadn't broken down the way Landon, or Mrs. Carter, particularly, did. I bottled them in, sealed them up, and set them away. Because, such perpetual grieving was the taboo I wanted to impede. I hadn't cried over all that I would have to abandon behind – life, time, love. I had always been strong enough to comfort myself, always been able to shed even the most infinitesimal beam of light against the pessimistic ways of life.

Perhaps some might say it is better to know when you would die ahead of time. So that you could make use of your remaining time. So that you could create the final fond memories with the ones you love. So that you can prepare your goodbye speeches. So that everyone knew what to expect when the time comes.

But really, an abrupt death – within the split second – could evade all these. The way Landon saw me. The way Mrs. Carter tried to empathize with my calamity. The way everyone looked at me so sympathetically.

Why couldn't anyone connect the dots?

I had hidden everything from them all these times was because I didn't want them to view me from such an accursed perspective. I needed none of their sympathy; I just wanted an ordinary life for the last percent of my time.

But just as much as I would loath these weeping, this revelation had exacerbated at the Sunday congregation. Dad had announced my terrible sickness to the congregation, but before he could end his speech, all murmurs, all movements ceased. People held their breaths, awaiting for someone to spoil the joke's bitter humor. Nothing broke the silence, and people only stared at each other in disbelief. There was so much grief and lament in the room that it was suffocating. Dad's awful contortion of fear and anguish confirmed the audience's worst fear. People rushed to help Dad off the stage before he could collapse from angst. No one looked at me, except Landon. He only glanced in my direction, once and very fleetingly, before he looked away to sniff and snuffle, I would guess.

People flocked around me, as if in battle for a seemingly final acquaintance with me, with their tears and inflamed eyes, moaning about their remorse, praying for me. They wailed, they spoke of their shock. They lauded me for my youth and they expressed their regret. They would do anything but look into the eyes of a dying girl.

I didn't cry when people around the town came to express their rue. Perhaps I was done crying; or perhaps I wasn't too attached to them to feel grief enough to evoke my hardened tears. Perhaps I knew I couldn't be crying all day long because my last moments had got to be more than shedding tears.

The congregation crowded around Daddy too, trying to provide consolation. Nothing could croak out of Dad's puffed, red face, and he merely nodded in thanks to their regards.

All these time Landon was by my side and all through these revelations together, he never seemed to be able to quell his emotions, or the simple thought of _losing_ me. Seeing him so weak and literally powerless over _my_ situation, a chuck of emotions pressed against my chest and welled up with every passing thought, making it almost impossible to breathe, my heart almost impossible to beat. Like these emotions tried to find an escape out of my bosom's chambers, suppressed constantly by superior forces; each pressure resisting its escape caused stronger vehemence in their need to be vented. They toiled within me, my mind a whirl, my heart feeling nauseous at all these drama. These inevitable and rational dramas.

It was certainly a tough time to pass, especially when people from school mustered their courage to walk up to me and express their sorrows and remorse. Some of them even cried for me, but I told all of them, even the meanest of them all, that I had forgiven them, and that the Lord would too. But they would stare at me in disbelief at my magnanimous mercy and end the conversation with a discomfiting hug that felt out-of-place. But I knew they meant well.

I remembered thinking that all these laments would die down, and life would resume. But I couldn't be more wrong. Friends, when I chanced upon them on the streets, would greet me briefly, afraid to look into my eyes. Sure, we would exchange a few lines and gestures, but things were certainly amiss. Their eyes estranged themselves from casual warm-heartedness that I used to receive. And it occurred a few times with Landon, but his sparing glances would suffice.

And among all those hearts that I had broken, the damage I'd done to Daddy and Landon were so incurable that I could not think of any other offenses that could be as sinful as this.

* * *

**Author's Note: iHola, personas! :) thank you all for the wait. I hope this was worth it. It's not too long (2000+ words) but I hope it was all good. I haven't been working on this fanfic for quite some time, so I guess.. this is probably the last prewritten chapter I have. Something ironic - I found two versions of this chapter, so it was quite some effort to merge both together, taking the essences of both versions. Funny how the 2 different times I read, my interpretations varied so diversely. The contents and the way Jamie reacted to things..very divergent. :\**

**Hope this was good. Writing is one of the rare things I take pride in. :)**


	24. Looming Ahead

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: **_**Looming Ahead**_

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Sitting right before my eyes and holding my hand tight in his palms was the love of my life. It might have only been twenty days since we were inaugurated as a couple, but these twenty days seemed enough to last a lifetime. Never was there a phenomenon of such wonder that in the last bits of my short life, a miracle could blossom. It seemed as if Heaven had taken pity on me and the Lord had finally answered my prayers.

However, in the otherwise perfect moment, Landon was a complete monochrome. Ever since he had learned about me and what awaited me in my future, he had transformed to be insipid and lifeless, as if _I_ had taken the breath out of him, as if _he_ was the one who saw no means of life any more. His pale face and listless expression would foil against his raging eyes. More frequently than ever, he would lay his glance on me, subliminally scrutinizing me up and down, and emotions toiled beneath his thinned mask. He would look at me in a sad glance and I could almost hear the thoughts that raced through his mind. He was at utter loss; he shouldn't have interfered into my life so he would be kept out of this mess. Now that he was in this turmoil, he could not simply extricate himself from all the mess. It was his responsibility that he had burdened himself to stay. Sometimes I thought that I saw regret in his expression – regret that he shouldn't have let all these happened and his own perceptible inability. Sometimes I identified fear in his eyes – his dilated eyes and scattered thoughts. But most of the time, I saw a powerless Landon, crippled against the force of fate and handicapped against himself.

He was trying to find himself in the face of losing me. All that he needed was someone to promise him that everything was a trick from the heavens. Salvation would come. A phenomenon would happen. Landon was waiting for a miracle to aid him just as I once was. He was waiting for a miracle to happen to me, but how could he not know that _he_ was my miracle? And that he was all I needed?

He wasn't himself. Sure, he would hold me in his arms, bury his face in my hair and stroke my cheeks, but these were merely actions of necessity, not the actions of passion and affection that I was more accustomed to. I wondered how much had I changed in his eyes since the moment everything spilled out that night.

And everything was so straightforward, so patent. Why did Landon even need to ask this redundant question: "Why didn't you tell me?"

We were in the living room the subsequent day when Daddy let loose my secret to the whole town. That day was January 10, 1959, and I didn't have much time left.

I searched through Landon's eyes that bored deeply into mine. His eyes sagged with dark circles beneath, seeming as if his eyes were forced to open against their will.

"I'd made a decision," I explained as gently as I could with the most solid voice I could engage without having to induce tears into Landon's swollen eyes again, "that it would be better if I told no one about leukemia, and I asked my father to do the same. You saw how people were after the services." I focusing on my caresses on his arm and tried to sound casual. "No one would even look me in the eye. If you only had a few months left to live, is that what you would want?"

Out of all the people I knew, I had thought that Landon would be able to understand these more than anyone else. I had even _assumed_ that he would have realized this fact even before the moment I'd told him. I'd expected the pieces to fall into prudence for him, like a sudden moment of epiphany – why I'd wanted him to do the Christmas play, why I'd given him my Bible, why this Christmas meant _so much_ to me. And why I hadn't even planned on going to college.

"The rehearsals then…all those Christmas rehearsals, those long days…" Landon murmured, deliberately avoiding my gaze. I could already hear the brim of breaking down in his voice. "Maybe you shouldn't have –"

"Maybe," I interjected quickly, squeezing his hand tightly. "But doing the play was the thing that kept me healthy for so long."

Landon didn't even spare a nod. He just stared at my fingers that could still move and caress him lightly and did not even utter another word.

e

I went to the orphanage as per normal. I wanted to lead a _normal_ life for all that I had left, and the kids were part of my routine life – an essentially inherent part.

I myself might not be an orphan, but in a peculiar manner, the children in the orphanage and I were, so to speak, in the same boat roaming around heedlessly in the ocean called life. Though I myself might have to be thrown overboard and drown in the sea soon, the children and I were nevertheless similar. We all lacked something in our lives. I lacked my mother and they - their parents. Accompanying them routinely was my way of endeavoring to fill up the gaps in their lives. I was not trying to replace myself in their parents' spots – for that would be anything but probable – but merely trying to redirect their attention from the vacancy and the dearth of parental love that they had to suffer from.

And because I knew the pain of having lost one parent, the children were victims of dire losses of both parents.

This was my personal motivation of connecting to these children since I was matured enough to reach this realization. Throughout my whole childhood and even teenage years, the one thing I silently yearned to have was a mother for me to talk to. And now that there was one added similarity between my mother and I – that is, having to bear the pain of abandoning Daddy – I craved for her comfort more than ever.

Landon came to visit the orphanage more frequently as well, usually when I merely casually brought up about my upcoming visit to the children. I deemed his visit to be a consolation for himself when he got to see the smiles on the children's faces that he knew would cheer me up. And perhaps leaving a little more buoyancy for himself as well.

Most of the time, however, I would go to the orphanage alone without Landon, only because my visiting time was during school hours. Ever since Beaufort found out about my misfortune, I was excused to quit school for good. The chief rationale for my decision to relinquish the remnants of schooling days was that I wanted to spend more time with Daddy. But a minor yet indispensable excuse was that I didn't need all those condolences and sympathy from fellow teachers and schoolmates.

On the first day I remained at home, I felt restless…and wrong. Granted, I was spending more time with Daddy, which was comforting enough since it managed to abate my guilt of having to leave him alone eventually. But during all the times when he would leave home – probably to soak up all his tears out of my view before returning home to face me – I was vulnerable to myself. Facing the empty house, I was left alone with my thoughts, all my wild, frenzy thoughts that would lead to fear and despair. Worse, I would sometimes be teeming with energy, and in the next moment, a giddy spell would overwhelm me and I would collapse from where I was standing. Most of the time, I manage to pick myself up quickly after the fleeting fainting occurred. When Daddy was home, my giddy spells meant complication, so I'd learned to deal with these spasms silently, hoping it would just simply slip past Dad's unvigilant awareness. These moments of giddiness, however, loved to play guerilla tactics with me and attack upon my mind when I was halfway in a sentence. This, then, caught Dad's attention, and even after I recovered from the short lapse of blanching and passing out, Dad would eye me with unprecedented vigilance and an excess of worrying and paranoia.

Yet, he was fully justified on his account. My sudden weakness of passing out only further confirmed my looming death date. Many a times, I wanted to cry out in despair, seeing that _anytime_, anywhere, I might just topple over and never get to open my eyes and see the world again. Admittedly, I was inconsolable beyond anyone, even Landon. Death was the thing I had to face alone, and it was the only door left for me to pass through, the last door of my life journey. There was no other way out, and those moments I had left were results of delays and lingering before the door. And with the force of the Black Hole growing in strength and I ebbing in defense, the time to relinquish would come soon. Maybe even now.

Fainting was yet merely an external reminder of my due date. Other symptoms began to erupt, but I silenced my tears and screams of pain and confined them within the boundaries of my mind. I would wake up on certain days and feel a sharp, acute pain in my abdomen. I remained in bed, writhing and curling up with an excuse that I was tired and needed a longer rest. Dad would not suspect my feigned fatigue, since he was warned beforehand that tire was a corollary of leukemia. He left me in peace, and until the swelling in my abdomen became less evident, I would rise out of bed and nibble on small pieces of congee and bread.

Landon always came by right after school hours. However, on the first day of my absence, he arrived much earlier than I had expected him to. He must have noticed by unannounced absence in school, and with a heavy heart and burden, left school earlier than he should have in order to check on me. He caught me after my symptoms had subsided by a fair bit, and I was grateful for that since it would dispel a considerable amount of his anxiety on the deterioration of my health.

Dad had just gone back to his office an hour ago when Landon stopped by. I quickly placed my Bible aside and welcomed him.

"Hello, Landon," I chimed with the greatest merriment I could carry in my voice. "This is a surprise."

Naturally, I leaned in to kiss him as a gesture to remind him of my living existence. He desperately needed a stimulant to raise his spirits, especially when he greeted me only with a mask of cascading exhaustion and grief already even before my death. How shall he manage when I'm gone, then?

I pulled back but left one arm around his waist. "My father isn't home right now, but if you'd like to sit on the porch, we can." I smiled at him.

As I slid my hand across his arm and tugged his finger along to the porch, he held me back. A look of desperation and incredulity fell upon his face.

"How do you do this?" he cried, exasperated. "How can you pretend that nothing is wrong?"

The look across his countenance made my smile drop. My tone turned grave and downcast. "I'm not pretending that nothing is wrong," I explained, meeting Landon's weary eyes. "Let me get my coat and we'll sit outside and talk, okay?"

I gave him a weak smile that faltered and waited for an answer. He frailly nodded, and I patted his arm.

"I'll be right back."

The cold that I felt physically was nothing in comparison to that in my heart. I quickly scrambled inside to let the tears that impatiently pressed on my eyes flow. I walked to my room, buried my face in my blanket and howled softly as the thickness of the blanket muffled my cries. A few tears spilled and after a moment, I collected myself and grabbed a coat, my winter hat, and my pair of gloves before going out into the cold again.

With renewed vigor, I made my way to Landon.

"You weren't in school today," he observed.

Looking down, I whispered, "I know."

"Are you ever going to come back?"

Holding my palms together, I shook my head gently, unable to look at Landon directly in his eyes. "No, I'm not."

"Why? Are you that sick already?" I could hear the growing concern in his voice, the mounting fear in the prospect of my answer.

"No," I replied and heard his sigh of relief. "Today I feel pretty good, actually," I lied. "It's just that I want to be home in the mornings, before my father has to go to the office. I want to spend as much time with him as I can."

A cough erupted from Landon and he stared at the ground, not responding to my words.

"When the doctors first told us," I continued, filling up the silence, "they said that I should try to lead as normal a life as possible for as long as I could. They said it would help me keep my strength up."

"There's nothing normal about this," Landon said bitterly.

"I know."

"Aren't you frightened?"

I wanted to laugh sardonically at this inane question. Who wouldn't be frightened? I had spent all my time at night trying to console myself, trying to evade the truth that I would die, trying to subdue my fear and terror of the future. I had drained my optimism in exchange for a fragile web of lies that I could no longer maintain as soon as the reality empowered.

"Yes," I murmured almost inaudibly to Landon's question. "I'm frightened all the time."

He seemed to shiver and wince at the truth in my voice, hoping to hear another fabrication of lie and comfort to ease his own trepidation and dread, but I could not provide myself or Landon any.

"Then why don't you act like it?" He asked.

"I do," I mumbled, almost to myself. "I just do it in private."

"Because you don't trust me?" he looked up into my eyes.

"No," the walls of my external and internal self crumbled. "Because I know you're frightened too."

e

I was able to spend more time in the orphanage than I ever did, mostly because Dad was at work, Landon was at school, and I didn't want to face myself alone at home. I spent the whole afternoon with the kids, taking part in their educational activities – the activities that I never had the chance to be included in due to my concurrent lessons before.

The younger kids were perhaps too young to wonder about my appearance during school hours. The older ones were not fooled. They inquired about my reasons, not out of personal concern since they were still too young to understand the underlying implications of my absence from my school, but out of personal gain. They hoped that they could pry out some excuses that they could use against Mr. Jenkins and other teachers in order to skip classes like I did.

In a way, I was setting a bad example for the kids, but none of the teachers had the heart to kick me out. They all knew about my condition and allowed me to be with the kids, since I wouldn't be able to spend any time with them once I was bed-ridden or even…gone. Mr. Jenkins, most of all, never spared me from his wary and anxious glances. He would always smile at me with condolence as if I had already…left, and each time they looked at me, their eyes burned with the fiery reminding that I was a sick girl, a regrettably dying one.

Mr. Jenkins tried to steer clear of any touchy topic about death and my sickness, but one day, he could no longer resist the urge to ask me about it.

"Are you sure you can…keep up like this, Jamie?" he asked softly and cautiously, afraid of speaking the wrong words.

"Yeah, Mr. Jenkins," I gave him my merry voice. "I'm still feeling well."

He nodded and hesitated.

"H-how long had you been hiding it from us?" He finally asked, and immediately after he choked out the question, from his expression, I could tell that he instantly regretted asking.

I gave my standard answer, only having to add a few more weeks since I was getting far from the time I discovered my chronic illness and nearing my doomsday.

"When – Are you planning to tell the kids?"

This question stumped me. I had never spared any thoughts about this issue. The kids…the lovable kids… I couldn't suppress the scenario that popped into my mind instantly – the scenario of them crying, crying because I had died too unexpectedly for them, because an adult they had come to love left them, abandoned them without sparing them time to prepare for all these repercussions of another loss. They had faced too many losses in life already. Why couldn't the Lord spare them from this one then?

"I don't know…" I replied frankly. "I…I never thought about that…"

"Jamie," Mr. Jenkins cleared his throat and continued, "I don't want to intrude into your decision or anything. But I just want to tell you this from a personal point of view. Most of the kids here, they have lost their parents – you and I and everyone else are well-aware of this… But what you don't know is how much they have come to love you. You are essentially a mother to them already, at least for those who have known you since you started visiting. Many of them have lost their parents _abruptly_, and I don't know about this but I think that letting them know about the loss in advance may help them to cope when…in the future."

"I know that, Mr. Jenkins. I just… I just don't want them to…I don't want to imagine their cries over my…when I'm not here anymore. They deserve more than this. I just – oh, I wished they never knew me, then they won't have to deal with this again…"

Mr. Jenkins placed a hand on my shoulder. "You brought them happiness, Jamie. They will remember you for that. I don't want them to think of you as the one who abandoned them suddenly instead of the girl who always visited them and made them happy."

I sniffed. Inside, I was torn apart already by this predicament. Unable to speak, I remained silent.

Mr. Jenkins continued, "I'll be by their side, Jamie, I promise you that. Count on me to help them through this. I'll help them through just as the Lord will help you through, Jamie. I promise you this."

I nodded and could barely croak without my voice breaking down. "Thank you, Mr. Jenkins. Thank you very much."

* * *

**Author's note: Thus Jamie is strugging to cope with breaking the sad news to people she loves, and I am struggling with a busy, busy life.**

**Yeah, that was my excuse for the 2-months' time of unheard news from me. I've been busy with lifework, my first novel (hitting 100,000 words!), and contemplating about..life. Hahahaha, yeah, it's pretty vague but it basically sums up all my excuses.**

**I just realized this is the 1 year + 1 month anniversary of this fanfic. Whoo-hoo to you all! You guys are simply THE BEST for reading up to chapter twenty-three! I honestly don't know how to continue this fanfic with lots of ACTION (the novel's slipping into the stream-of-consciousness phase instead of more action because Landon's trying to figure out what life's gonna be about), but I'm guessing it'd be a lot of narrative trying to prowl inside Jamie's head.**

**Besides, there's still a pretty long way with all the issues in Jamie's life undealt with and she's still considerably strong now...**

**And there's still the marriage. _Tun-dun-dun._**

**Well, all in all, you guys are simply the best people in this world (what an understatement) for supporting me up to this part of the story. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH I love writing simply for this reason (what an exaggeration, but it's still TRUE :D).**

**Read and enjoy the wait for the next chapter! 3 :)**


	25. Faith

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: **_**Faith**_

Death isn't something thinkable. Not especially when it is thought in the context of yourself.

I thought that this D-word was always something reserved for the elderly, those who had past the golden age of their lives, who had seen enough of the world, who had been through more than adequate in a lifetime. That simple word was capable of erasing a whole lifetime: a lifetime of memory, happiness, love. One swipe across the board was all it took to wipe out an existence. Dying was meant to be a painful process of detachment from earth; the pain was meant to offset the happiness gained in life, to balance joy and misery on the scale.

May it be so, then let it come; let the pain come because life is fair. I had my fair share of love, so I will need my fair bit of suffering.

e

Debility would not reflect in the mirror the very next day. It would not remind you about its existence waning your appearance on a daily basis. Like any other pernicious pathogen, it would sneak up upon you, slowly yet expectedly, until one day when all the striking changes became abruptly apparent to your eyes. Growing accustomed to the leanness would only last a smidgen of time; it could not blind your eyes for long. After that ephemeral time, you would suddenly arouse from that trance of ignorance and be taken aback by the stranger staring back at you in the bathroom mirror.

My cheeks were drawn back, so tightly pressed against my bone that I could see the outline prominently. My skin was a sallow pastel, yet beneath my chin, my neck was swollen and puffy. Oddly enough, I saw all these symptoms of worsening conditions on that rare morning when I felt better than before – the first night in many when I did not break out in a night sweat.

Bruises became a common sight on my whole body. Today, it would appear on my knee, my arms, even on my thighs, though I crashed into none of the furniture at home. A few days later, some of them would fade, but new ones would emerge out of nowhere faster than they would diminish.

Perhaps Landon saw what I saw as well. The first thing he saw me, even before me pulled me into his usual embrace, was, "How are you feeling?"

I could see a tinge of relief in his eyes, the kind of relief after blurting out something he had wanted to say every time we were together but never managed to. Yet, such liberation was merely a short-lived respite, for the anticipation of my answer placed a greater burden on him – the ugliness of the truth.

"I'm doing okay," I forced out a plastered smile. My cheeks felt hardened and stiff, yet I managed the awkward feigned smile well enough. Feeling the need to sound more convincing, I added, "The doctors have given me some medicine for the pain, and it seems to help me a little."

"Can I get anything for you?"

I touched his palm. He did more than he needed to for me already, even just by being here.

"No, thank you," I murmured. "I'm doing fine."

He nodded slightly, shifting his seat, shuffling restlessly. His eyes swept the room before looking back at me.

Contemplating deeply, he licked his lips before speaking. "I've been reading the Bible."

The final word, somehow through Landon's own tongue, instilled a light spasm of invigorating energy in me. "You have?"

"I wanted you to know."

"I'm glad you told me," I smiled at him – this time – genuinely.

"I read the book of the Job last night," he elaborated, "where God stuck it to Job to test his faith."

I reached out and patted his arm. "You should read something else. That's not about God in one of his better moments."

"Why would he have done that to him?"

"I don't know," I said softly, turning away.

"Do you ever feel like Job?"

I paused, a small smile curling up my lips. "Sometimes."

"But you haven't lost your faith?"

"No." Of course not. Faith…it was my life, my way of life, leading me towards my Shepherd, where I must belong one day eventually.

"Is it because you thnk you might get better?"

I chuckled softly, though even I could tell it sounded off-tune. "No. It's because it's the only thing I have left." _Besides you, Landon_, I thought to myself_, though I don't know when I'll have to lose you again._

Landon sighed softly before picking up the Bible that I had given him. He began reading verses to me, and in turn, I recited along with him at parts where I had memorized before.

This scene, of Landon and me together on the simple couch with that exquisite Book, was momentarily perfect: the voices of Jamie, Landon, and God reading together in harmony.

* * *

**Author's note: Sorry for that extremely long abeyance! I ran out of prewritten pages, so I just began writing this extremely truncated chapter in 30 minutes! I was really, _really_ busy and still am. I'm not supposed to be writing right now but doing my work because next saturday I have an EXTREMELY HUGE TEST and I'm freaking out right now. :|**

**Take the time to read and enjoy. :) I don't know when the next chapter is gonna be uploaded - I don't want to make any promises.. But what I _can_ promise is that this is still far from the end. I just flipped through the upcoming events in the book itself, and apparently, lots of ideas for scenes started popping in my head. So if that's good news for you, it's good news for me too :)**

**Enjoy and don't forget to review! I love them! Make me feel like my invested time in this is worth something at least. :)**

**-yrforever.**


	26. Opiate of Sleep

**CHAPTER TWENTY-****FIVE: **_**Opiate of **__**Sleep**_

You'll never know what is bound for you tomorrow; that is true in every sense of the saying. The day – shortening more and more steadily as my illness took its toll – would exhaust me enough that by twilight, I would look forward to sleep. No insomnia; no flipping over the bed waiting for sleep to sink in and mercifully swallow me whole. Not only did I have no energy left for flipping (I could barely even walk steadily now for lengthy moments), but I also was too tired and weak in every muscle to let my thoughts wander and slowly drift me to sleep. Not that I was too fatigued to fight insomnia: my greater, more empowering worry – terminal leukemia – fought it off for me. It was the only advantage – if there were even any – accompanying this incarnation of death; I need not worry about dark, lingering afterthoughts that haunted the remnants of my existence. Sleep was my short-term opiate: by the morning, I would feel magically better and rejuvenated, though not to a great extent, but good enough for a mild performance for Dad and Landon.

But then that meant that I would panic when sleep didn't wear off my weariness. Though such cases were rare, rareness didn't mean that they never happened. I would have to invent up some excuses to make up for my terrible state of fragility – anything but blaming leukemia. I had tried things from staying up too late at night without Daddy's permission and knowledge to silly things such as the blaring sun overwhelming my sight. I felt little guilt in lying – after all, Dad and Landon would find out the truth when they read this book in the (hopefully not) near future.

A few days back, I had my first taste of the bed-ridden life I figured I was bound to have soon. In the afternoon, Dad sent me to the orphanage again. But it was a special trip: I was to reveal myself. Even the youngest kids had questioned my gaunt look and emaciated form. Some more innocent ones told Mr. Jenkins, from whom I had heard these stories, to prepare a mattress beside them on my next visit so that I could take a nap along with them. I cried, not deliberately, when I heard of it. How could I put them in the dark? They had to see the truth of life, not to suffer under it when they would discover it by themselves. They had to hear it from me myself, letting the reality slip slowly and healthily into their awareness instead of letting it crush upon them harshly and destroy their innocence.

And therefore, I did. They did not comprehend the adult stuff: what was leukemia, and what it did; why did it have to be me, and why couldn't the doctors do anything? None of them cried, because they didn't know what death really meant. I had to explain: I was dying. It was so hard to say it right out of my mouth, and when I did, it just didn't sound right. I saw Mr. Jenkins slip out of the room at the back and caught sight of his reddened eyes and puffy cheeks.

I watched them intently and witnessed the nuances in their expressions as I spoke. My eyes watered and streamed, and they crawled to my legs and told me to stop crying because they themselves weren't. But they did, in the end, because they slowly understood: understood that I wasn't going to be here with them, ever, in who-knows-how-much time, that I was going to be under the ground and I would be deadly white and cold and in a coffin – in a box – and they could not come along with me. But I was going to be with God, and that was all that should matter; I was going to be in better place called Heaven, but I didn't say I was scared to leave. I didn't know if there were going to be candies, I told them, but I'm sure there were nicer things than candies.

Of all the things that were going to happen to me, I just couldn't tell them why. All I said was leukemia, and said no more until one of them – Roger – asked what_ "look-yee-mia"_ was.

_It's a sickness, Roger. Something like what you get when you fall sick and have to take medicines and sleep to get better, when you get a cold. Just that I have no medicines to take and can never get better. But you'll never be like that, _I promised him; _you'll never have to be like me because you'll always get well if you're sick. It's just me, and that's the way God has it planned._

And then I put them to sleep so they would fell less of the impact of the news. Sleep would heal the sadness, and they would accept this truth when they woke because they were still children – little beautiful angels. Like mine, their sleep was their opiate, but unlike mine, it was long-term for them. I watched them drift slowly into their land of sweet dreams and silently in my heart prayed for them.

I held most of my tears until I saw Landon, which, then, I could hold them back no longer. He drew me in and stroked my arm and my back and held me steadily and said nothing but spoke encouragingly through his silence, though I knew that his strength was falling apart even for himself. And this was the case with a tragic scene: you have to be stronger than yourself for the ones you truly care about, even when you can be strong for yourself no longer.

* * *

**Author's Note: I feel _so bad_ for not updating for so long. I ran out of what I've written before and just couldn't fork out the time to type and keep typing this fanfic because I've been working on so many other original projects... I promise (and will try _hard_ not to break it) to give a quick update again once school begins in September once I have my hands on A Walk To Remember**** book. (If I don't keep that promise, just chastise me for it by sending me a private message or just post your eagerness on the review board.) I think it is time for the heartrending climax to unfold in the next chapter or so...! **

******To kind of make up for my terribly long silence, here's MY OWN writing website that I've just created two weeks back. And that is where I'll be posting all my writings (including this fanfic) on that website. So you'll get more out of me instead of just this fanfic. **

******yrphua . weebly . com **

******Remove the spacing because does not allow me to put links.**

******You guys are the best for staying with me through this fanfic. Love you all so much. :)**

******-yrforever**


	27. Pondering

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: _Pondering_**

When you knew something was amiss with your body—and lethally amiss—your mind would start to align itself with an abstinent way of thinking. Such abstinence was the sort of fanatical self-affliction. It suddenly became illegal to laugh and normal to cry. It suddenly became outlandish to feel truly sanguine and suddenly fashionable to depress myself. I forbade every happy thought, because I wasn't supposed to really feel happiness. The correct response to dying was to mope about it inside but _pretend_ to be completely okay with it outside.

No one could see this part of me. When Landon made me feel less afraid, I became more afraid of being less afraid, and quickly bounce back to my former afraid state. When Daddy spoke of a reminiscent joke, I'd laugh—and laugh with my whole heart—but catch myself halfway and revert back to my internal depression.

I had agreed to go to Landon's house for dinner that night, though honestly I knew I would not be feeling alright enough to put on a nice show. I had tried to tell him, but he was insistent.

"Landon, I don't know how I will feel that day. I don't want to put your mother's hopes up and disappoint her because… What if I ran a high fever that night? Or even if my bruises are obvious?" I rolled up my sleeve to show Landon the darkest bruise. "I can't risk it. I can't control it. I can't foresee—I can't, I can't—"

"Jamie," he lifted my chin up. "Jamie. Jamie, look at me. Jamie. My mom will understand. I will understand. Everyone will. Don't put the pressure on you. So what if you don't feel well? The extra food can be our lunch the next day. We'll just settle for another time. We'll reschedule everything else. It's no hassle, no worries. Don't, Jamie. Don't cry—it's making me—it's making me sad too. Jamie, don't…"

I sniffed and forced a terrible smile. It came out more as a frown, I knew, because Landon's face turned more sullen.

"I know it's hard on you, to leave the house and out of your comfort and everything," Landon said. "But I thought it would be nice for you to, you know, get out for a while, crash at my place a little…"

"Crash at your place? Landon," she chuckled miserably through her tears, "I don't think I'm suitable for crashing this point in time."

"Well, you know what I meant. Maybe gain a little perspective, I don't know. Just get out. Escape a while."

I would like to escape very much—and escape this world. But as much as I would like to, I didn't have _the_ energy to expend. I would very much like a rest from everything, not the kind of rest under the…earth. I shuddered and rolled my eyes, rolling the macabre thought out of my head.

If Landon intended well, then why not? Perhaps, and hopefully, Daddy could make the veto for me.

I shrugged. "I guess I'll go then, but I'll need Daddy's permission first."

e.

It turned out that even Daddy stood on their side. Landon had particularly picked a sunny day to bring me over. Weather forecast, Landon said, turned out to be rather persuasive on his part. He had reasoned out with Daddy and compromised a curfew. By nine, before it got intolerably chilly, I had to be back.

I wasn't apprehensive about the weather and coldness. I was afraid of Landon's mother and her views of me. I was afraid that, when Landon went to the kitchen for utensils, she would tell me to leave Landon because she didn't want to see her son's heart break. An early cut would be an easy cut. Further mingling would make separation harder.

Throughout dinner, I tried to keep up with my spirits. I used my rehearsed voice and intonation. I smiled more than often to compensate myself from nodding. (Nodding made me dizzier.) I kept readjusting my scarf to ensure that my bruise was concealed. I didn't want to show that I was sick. Knowing sufficed; Mrs. Carter did not need to visually and physically validate my terminal illness. I had to show her I could stay healthy long enough for her son. I had to lie to her that her son would not experience heartbreak and grief anytime _soon_.

Mrs. Carter turned out cordial and warm. At first, I was wary of her friendliness, but her enthusiasm neither faltered nor gave way to ulterior motives. I felt that she genuinely wanted to get to know me before I...ceased to exist. I was valued; I was cared for, _especially_ by Landon's mother. I didn't know if this alternative source of family love classified as an illegal emotion, since it had never occurred to me. I decided to abandon my reservations and would resume debate about the classification later.

Since it was only half past eight when I returned home, Landon decided to sit in the living room with me. Daddy was in his own study, though his door was wide open, and I could see a side of his face.

"Jamie," Landon said. "I've been thinking about the past few months."

I looked at him. The past few months? Months? It felt like a lifetime for me, when we were together. A lifetime all too much to remember, a lifetime all too regretful to forget.

"I've been thinking about them, too," I said.

"You knew, from the first day in Ms. Garber's class that I was going to do the play, didn't you. When you looked at me and smiled?"

My eyes lit up immediately. Earlier apprehensions of and schemes for the Christmas play felt so ancient. I nevertheless flashed back with nostalgia, wishing I could go back in time repeatedly, escaping my future in my past.

"Yes," I said. My heart flew. Landon remembered. Remembered the smallest detail of me looking at him and smiling. I prayed he could carry all those finest memories with him for evermore.

"And when I asked you to the homecoming dance, you made me promise that I wouldn't fall in love, but you knew that I was going to, didn't you?"

I smirked at him.

"Yes."

He rubbed the back of my palm.

"How did you know?"

I turned away, smiling. My gaze lay upon the mug of steaming water on the coffee table, and I shrugged. Images of the past raced through my mind.

"When I told you that I prayed for you," I finally said, "what did you think I was talking about?"

Landon merely stared at me, pondering over my words. And I said nothing else, for I wanted him to keep pondering. To keep pondering about me, about us even after everything else ended.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**My deepest apology. I totally (did not) forget about this fanfic. :( I am so busy with all the work plus nanowrimo plus original plotlines and etc. There's so much to do. Too much to do. Today I ran to the library and checked out AWTR book so I can write this chapter. I hope it's not too rushed. I tried not to rush it. But I didn't preview it since I wanted it uploaded immediately for you guys. XD**

**Enjoy~! :)**


	28. Hospital

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: _Hospital_**

A week after my visit to Landon's house, I fell unconscious at home in my bathroom. All I remembered was my deep lethargy and a sudden weakness in my thighs. I sat on the bathroom floor and tried to feel better, which I did not, though I did not feel worse, at least. Then, after examining all the bruises that spotted my legs, I tried to rise, felt a flush of giddiness, and was overcome by a prevailing thought that it'd feel so good to be fast asleep.

And then I felt comfort. Deep sleep.

I awoke to find my head oppressively heavy and to hear lots of _beep_s. Daddy was right next to me, and I wasn't in my room. White bedsheets, machines by my side, tubes stuck to my body. I tried to move but felt the needles in my arms. I cringed and groaned.

"What is this?"

"Jamie," Dad spoke softly in his worried and lugubrious voice, "you fainted and was bleeding. I found you like that. You know how frightened I was? You know how…how _frantic_ I was? I was so scared, Jamie. You scared me so badly. I was so, so _terrified _to lose you, honey. I really am."

Dad planted a long kiss on the back of my palm and buried his face in both of his hands. There was no normal response to such a speech. I turned away, really wanting to scream at Daddy, to tell him to stop it, and to stop all his worries right then and there. Did he think that _I_ wasn't scared? What did he think about what I thought? Did he think I was still the heroine, undaunted despite death? Did he think that inside, I was the same optimistic girl I had put out front? I was trembling inside, and more than ever in the hospital. More than ever anywhere else.

"I want to be discharged," I said. "I want to go home."

Dad lifted his gaze. "You can't, Jamie. It's better here. There are nurses here to look after you. If anything happens, there are doctors two steps away—"

"I don't want to be here," I croaked. "I hate it here."

"Jamie, please… Don't make this more difficult than it already is."

"Even if I die, I want to die at home, Dad. I don't want to die here! I don't want to be in a place I don't belong!"

"Jamie! Please!"

Tears began to fall from my eyes. "It's cold here. It's lonely. There's nothing here for me. Let me go home," I pleaded. "Nurses and doctors can't save me from doom. They can't change a thing." I spoke the last few words with deep hostility and a clenched jaw. Doctors were the most pointless people. They were supposed to save lives. They were supposed to save _me._ And all they could tell me was that my case was a gone case. Gone. Lost. Dead. And there was not a single thing they could do.

Dad stood up, his whole face livid. "You, Jamie Sullivan. You are staying here as I say. I am your father, and I get to choose what's best for you." His eyes were watery. "You will not go home."

"You have no right to keep me here," I screamed. "You can't imprison me. You can't, you can't—"

The door flung open and interrupted me. Landon came in, anxious and flushed.

"Jamie, how are you? Are you—"

He rushed to my side and saw my tears. Looking up at Dad standing, completely enraged and miserable, Landon noted something amiss.

"I—I came immediately after I heard about Jamie," Landon explained mainly to Dad.

"It's nothing about you," Dad muttered. He took a deep breath. "Take care of her, Landon." After giving Landon a brief pat, he walked out of the room.

Landon waited for a few moments before asking. "What just happened here?"

"Dad and I fought."

"You _fight_?" Landon cried.

I glared at him. "He won't let me go home."

"Of course not, Jamie. You're sick. Very sick—"

"Sick and dying, yes! So I might as well go home, since I'm dead for sure no matter what!"

Landon stared blankly at me. I suddenly felt self-conscious. I lashed out my anger at him for no apparent reason.

"Sorry," I murmured. "I just—I need to go home." I looked at him in his eyes. "I want to go home, I don't want to stay here, Landon…"

Landon shifted his body closer to the bed and pulled me in. "Silly Jamie. What's the difference? It's quieter here. And I get a reason to be around you all day," Landon joked.

I snickered through my tears. In Landon's arms, I drifted off to sleep. With me in his arms, Landon fell deep in his thoughts. I remembered wanting to ask him what he was thinking so carefully about, but I decided against it, not wanting to disrupt the quietness that Landon jokingly loved about this ward.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I'm so sorry that the chapters are getting shorter and shorter. From now on, I decided not to pace my story according to the actual novel. I want to write more based on what I think I should add to Jamie's last moments. Of course, the ending will still be the same. They'll get married. She'll (die). :( This will let more of my creative juice flow, so I hope you don't mind and will, on the other hand, welcome it! :)**

**All the best, guys. Happy 3 weeks late new year :)**


	29. Out of White Mars

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: ****_Out of White Mars_**

I woke up to the loud clangs, and for a moment, I was seized with the euphoria of not being in the hospital.

But when I opened my eyes, I met the white sheets, the empty couch, the bland, depressing decorations of the room.

"Landon?" I struggled to utter even a word. My chest was heavy, and I could barely lift my arm without feeling the tremendous, sinking force of gravity.

"Oh, Jamie!" Landon chimed. "I was just packing."

I eyed his grin suspiciously. "Packing?"

"You're going home. _We're_ going home. My dad—he arranged for you to be taken care at home." He breathed and smiled. "First time—first time my dad's useful."

I blinked. Home? No longer incapacitated in this white Mars? No longer emotionally extinguished by the four walls staring at me.

Why I deserved this man, I didn't know. As I watched him pack up my clothes, he occasionally turned to smile at me. He was an angel who flitted down to save me. Why did life bring him to me so late? He should've entered my life earlier than this, so that all we had wouldn't merely be our struggle with leukemia. He defied logic; a miracle in the nick of time, a salvation in the face of death.

"You know, without the hospital, you can't have a reason to be around me all day long," I joked.

"I'd prefer the happier Jamie than the mournful one stuck in the hospital," he breathed, putting down the bags and walking towards me. "Look at you," he stroked my cheeks, "you're livelier than before, don't you agree?"

He leaned down to plant a kiss on my lips.

"Didn't have this in a long while," I whispered, and he leaned in again, this time his body moved closer to mine, and his fingers ran through my hair. I was panting between kisses, and would have reciprocated Landon's passion if my fatigue didn't wane my strength.

"We'd better go," Landon pulled back. "There's a better surprise waiting for you at home."

* * *

**Author's note:**

**It's been one year since I posted! 2012 has been a crazy, busy year, and I finally have a break. I was almost close to giving up on this fanfic, but then recently I've received several reviews that reminded me about you guys, my dear readers, and about my self-pledge to finish this story for the first time (I've never finished a long story before; always stopped halfway through). So thank you all for your support, and the next chapter, which I shall write soon, is the moment everyone's waiting for. I shall not spoil it ;)**

**Once again, as I get further into the story, I tweak the plot to fit my story version that's different from Nicholas Sparks'. :)**


End file.
